


LOTR: Shadows of the Past

by allen_bair



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 113,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allen_bair/pseuds/allen_bair
Summary: Eight thousand years after the destruction of Mt. Doom, the Bright Lord's ring has been found again by an unlikely shopkeeper in a small town in Yorkshire. Now history threatens to repeat itself as Mr. Frudd and Sam the store clerk get caught up in a millennia old secret and an adventure with an ancient and proud family line that takes them from England to the Continent and beyond as they seek to destroy the last remaining "One Ring" on Earth.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

In February of 2019, a silver ring bearing an inscription in elvish script inside and out was found by the North Yorkshire police during a raid on a house in York and was recovered as stolen property. Despite their best efforts, the police were never able to locate the rightful owner of that ring.

And then, inexplicably, it went missing from the evidence lockup. Unbeknownst to the Yorkshire Police, it was found over twenty miles away by an unlikely fellow from the town of Goole who happened upon it while walking near the outlet from the River Ouse which just happens to run all the way from York…

Chapter 1

It was past five o’clock, and Jim Frudd had just locked up the used bookshop for the day. He could never quite think of it as _his_ bookshop as it had first been his uncle William’s bookshop before it unexpectedly passed to him in his second term at Cambridge over ten years prior. It was always _the_ bookshop in his mind.

An only child, his aunt and uncle had raised him after his own parents had died in a boating accident when he was ten. “Cul-de-Sac Books” had been their personal sanctuary from the world, and it had become his as well, instilling in him the love of books of all kinds. The smell of old books relaxed and soothed him and the stories and adventures they presented to him as a child had provided to him both an anchor and an escape in a world that had become all too turbulent. Those books had taught him, inspired him, and gave him the upper hand he needed when applying for admission to Cambridge. Jim had been studying English literature with a keen interest in Beowulf when he received the news of his uncle’s heart attack. His aunt had gone into a kind of shock after Uncle William’s death and never fully recovered. Leaving his studies, he took over the running of the bookshop, and in so doing meant to care for her as well just as they had done for him. And then she had passed five years after that, though the G.P. in Goole frustratingly couldn’t give a reason why. Physically, she had been perfectly healthy for a sixty five year old woman.

After that, the bookshop passed into his hands completely. He had thought about shutting it down and returning to Cambridge to finish his studies, but he couldn’t bring himself to close it up. It was still comfortable, even if it bore a few ghosts. They were _comfortable_ ghosts, familiar and friendly. How could he face them knowing that he had sold or given away what was most precious to them?

He walked along the river parallel to Hook Road as he always did at this time of the evening. The sun was past its final throes and the lamp posts had already lit. His mate Sam had invited him for a couple of pints at The Jailhouse, the pub a few blocks from his shop, that evening. He had seriously considered it, but wasn’t in the mood as he walked. After all, it was the fifth anniversary of his aunt’s passing, and it just didn’t feel right to him to be getting trashed just then. He didn’t think she’d approve.

He had just passed Axholm Street, when off to his right as he walked something glinted with a silvery light. Then he realized it couldn’t have glinted because the sun was already down and the lamp posts weren’t really bright enough yet for that, nor were they the right color being a more yellow or orangish light.

_Well, that’s odd_. He thought to himself as he stopped and turned his head towards the riverbank in the direction it had come from. And then it glinted again. _How strange._ He thought again.

There was no one else around him out walking that evening, and only the occasional car passing by on the road. It couldn’t have been someone with a torch or a mobile phone because there was no one else there.

He had more of a mind to just keep walking and forget about it. That evening he wanted nothing more than to get to his house, make himself something to eat, pour himself a glass of blush (just one for the digestion of course, and nothing more potent), and sit down to read. He might have tried getting on his computer to play the Tolkien based online game to which he subscribed, but his mate already said he’d be at the pub tonight, and he didn’t feeling like questing through Middle Earth alone.

It glinted again, almost as if trying to get his attention. Of course that was nonsense. There was clearly no one there, and why would they want to get the bookshop owner’s attention anyway? He had always been a plain sort of man, shorter and a bit on the plump side with light brown hair and similarly colored close cropped beard. That evening he wasn’t wearing anything particularly fancy. He never did. Just an olive green wool sweater and khakis with his somewhat trademark black fog coat and earthy brown scarf to keep out the chill. No, he had never caught anyone’s eye, and as such had been a confirmed bachelor. He had failed to catch the attention of any eligible ladies, and no one would be trying to get _his_ attention either, he was certain of it.

But then, it wouldn’t hurt anything to see what it was, would it?

_Fine_. He surrendered to his curiosity, postponing his comfortable evening of private grieving, and ventured off the paved walkway and across the grass down to the grey rocks and mud of the river bank where the “glinting” seemed to be coming from. His leather shoes, well worn and comfortable, sank into the wet soil very uncomfortably and he soon began to regret his choice as it threw him slightly off balance.

It was much darker by the water, and the light of the nearest lamp post by the road struggled to reach it.

_How am I to see or find anything down here among the mud and rocks?_ He asked himself, complaining internally as he tried to look for the source of the tiny light that had caught his attention. He spent a few minutes trying to see something, anything, before deciding it wasn’t worth any more of his time.

He had just been about to give up and start back up to the lit walk way when it “glinted” again directly in front of him, just beneath the surface of where the water met the bank. Seeing it, he bent down and put his hand into the shallow water to feel for what it might be. His fingers closed around what felt like a solid loop of metal, though it felt rough to the touch of his wet digits. He swished it a bit in the water to clean what mud might be on it and then pulled it out expecting it to be some sort of rusted metal debris. It was not.

Even in that poor lighting, he could see that it was a ring of some kind which had been engraved, though whether it was of gold or silver he couldn’t quite see for the lighting and for the spectacles he wore. His love of books had rendered him somewhat nearsighted as it does to every bibliophile worthy of the name.

Having retrieved his “prize,” he then retreated carefully back to the safety of the walkway’s lighted lamp posts where he had another, better look at it. It was then that he really was able to notice the inscription, no the inscription _s_ on the ring which he was now certain appeared to be of a silver color.

_Is this some kind of a joke?_ He wondered, looking at the inscription. _Maybe_ _someone’s having a bit of fun with me after all_. Had been his second thought upon seeing the writing.

“Sam!” he called out towards the river. “Is this your idea of fun?!”

But his best mate didn’t answer back. No one did. There was no one there but himself.

Of course upon seeing the writing, both on the outside _and_ the inside of the ring he recognized it immediately even though it wasn’t in English at all. It was written in the Tengwar letters of Tolkien’s elvish writing system. He knew it on sight quite well from his own love of Tolkien’s works, _The Hobbit_ , _The Lord of the Rings_ , and everything which had been published by the great fantasy author’s estate since his death. It was Tolkien’s works which had first inspired him to study Beowulf, Norse Mythology, and eventually to pursue a degree in Literature. Not to mention that almost everything in the online game he played was written in it. He could even guess what it said, and judging by the inscription, he had no doubt what the ringmaker had intended it to say even if he couldn’t work it out word for word just right there and then.

_One Ring to Rule them All, One Ring to Find them, One Ring to bring them All, and in the Darkness Bind them._ He knew the words by heart well enough.

The ring he held was meant to be a near perfect copy of the One Ring, Sauron’s ring, from _The Lord of the Rings_. Near perfect, that is, except this one was silver where Sauron’s was meant to be gold, and seemed to strangely reflect the light of the lamp post, not as it was, but with a silvery glow of its own.

What was even stranger about it was that it appeared to be just the right size for his own ring finger.

_My mind must be playing tricks on me._ He thought to himself. He considered it even harder when it appeared that the writing shimmered with a blue incandescence every so often as he turned it in his hand.

_Still_ , he thought to himself, _there are worse finds for a lover of Tolkien on an anniversary such as this. I suppose I should take it perhaps as a gift from someone somewhere._

“Well, whoever you are who left this for me to find,” He said out loud, “thank you. It has brightened what is otherwise a difficult day of the year for me.”

He then decided to slip it onto the ring finger of his left hand, intending to show his find to Sam when next he saw him. He did so, meaning to stretch out his hand to look at it.

And then the whole world went wrong. Things began to bend out of sorts, and he began to see ghostly shapes in the darkness. His heart began to race in a panic and he took the ring off immediately.

_No…_ He thought as he looked at the engraved band of silver in shock, breathing hard at the experience, his heart pounding in his chest, _it can’t be._

As an experiment, he slipped the ring on his finger again, and the world went wrong once more. He could see the ghostly images of people around himself in antiquated dress walking by the riverbank. The sky looked red and threatening above him and there were no stars. He could see the outlines of the road, the lamp posts, the houses and buildings across the road and down it, but they were blurred and uncertain as though only shadows. More than this though, he felt powerful. More powerful than he had ever felt before. He could easily see himself leading armies, and did in those shadows. Armies of long dead warriors just waited to rise up at his call. And there was… another presence there. Somewhere in the far distance, it was strange to him, it felt lost and confused as though it were trapped in this world and wanted nothing more than to be set free.

Finally when his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest and he could stand it no more, he pulled the ring off his finger again, and all was quiet. A car passed by on the left hand side of the road. What stars there were shone above him in the moonless night. Everything had returned to the way it was.

Except it hadn’t. He had the strongest urge to put the ring on once more, but fought it as his mind raced. He didn’t want to go back to that frightening place it had taken him.

“What the bloody hell is happening to me?” He asked aloud as he looked at the ring in his hand once more. “This is lunacy. I’ve finally gone round the bend.”

He tried working it out in his head, but nothing realistically made sense except that he was having a schizophrenic episode. Except he had never had a schizophrenic episode in his entire life, and neither had any of his relatives. And who had ever heard of someone having hallucinations from putting on a piece of jewelry? If he were to move outside the boundaries of reality, and accept that this was in fact what it looked like… Well, that presented even more problems that he wasn’t sure he was prepared to deal with.

_One ring_. He reasoned. _But even in the book, that ring was destroyed. It ended. There were never_ two _“One Rings.” Oh, I’m going mad just considering this. But still, it can’t be Sauron’s ring. It was destroyed according to Tolkien, and thousands of years ago at that._

That much he knew was true. Tolkien had been very keen on the dates and years involved for his lore, and he had based the fall of Numenor, a powerful island kingdom to the far west which became the foundation of the two kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor in Middle Earth, on the sinking of Atlantis. If you were to synchronize the two, then Atlantis, or Numenor, would have fallen around roughly 9400 B.C.E., and from there one could calculate when Sauron’s ring was destroyed by the Hobbits, Frodo and Samwise, at around 6259 B.C.E. That was over eight thousand years ago. And it was no secret that Tolkien always intended Middle Earth to represent Europe of millennia past, and the Shire to represent England…

_I think I’m going insane._ He thought to himself again. _All the stress of losing my aunt and uncle, leaving Cambridge, and being on my own has finally caught up to me._

Suddenly, he remembered Sam’s offer of a pint at The Jailhouse once more. Under the circumstances, a pint or two of the Guinness didn’t sound that disrespectful at all. He pocketed the ring in the front of his pants carefully and turned back towards the better lit town center of Goole.

Unknown to him, and unseen by him for what he was experiencing just then, a dark clothed, hooded figure emerged from the shadows across the road and began to follow the bookshop owner from distance, careful not to arouse any attention to himself.

* * *

At The Jailhouse pub in Goole…

Samuel Ogden sat at the bar watching the news report on the tele. He would have preferred to be watching a rugby or football match, but it wasn’t the season. Not that he was really into sport of the physical kind, but anything was better than the mess the world looked to be in at that point. He’d invited his mate Jim there for a few pints after they both took off work, Jim from his bookshop and he from the Asda Supermarket he worked at during the day. Sam was pretty sure Jim wasn’t going to come. He usually didn’t on this particular day. But he wanted to be there just in case he changed his mind.

Someone had to look out for Jim, ‘specially since Jim seemed to have a hard time with it himself.

He’d met the bookshop owner online as a mate from his kinship, their group of players which had banded together for their own survival in the online lands. They’d run dozens of quests and instances together before they realized they lived in the same town in the U.K. Jim loved his books and good food, and Sam had a flair for cooking and shared his interest in _The Lord of the Rings_ , at least the version of it from the computer games and Peter Jackson’s movies. He’d never been much into reading before getting to know his friend. Jim had been shocked that Sam had never actually read the book, and had been the one to introduce him to Tolkien’s actual writings, which Sam found to be hard to get through at first, but eventually saw what Jim loved about it. Both were confirmed bachelors, at least for the time being, and both were definitely straight as far as that went. Sam had dark blond hair, and kept himself clean shaven because of his job. He wasn’t much taller than the shorter shopkeeper though, only by a couple of inches, and he hadn’t yet hit thirty years old. His face was round, and usually cheerful, and his plumper than usual body hid a decent amount of muscle from having to stock shelves and helping customers.

He nursed the pint of Guinness in front of him as he continued to absorb the BBC’s outlook on the way the world was turning. As they told it, it didn’t seem like the Earth wanted to turn itself much longer, leastwise not with humans still on it.

“Hello, Sam.” Jim’s voice pulled his attention away from the television.

“Jim! You made it! Good to see you, mate!” Sam responded with a genuine smile, surprised to be sure, but genuine nontheless. He got the attention of the barkeep, “Another for my friend, here!”

The barkeep gestured in reply, and soon Jim was sitting on a stool next to Sam at the bar with a full pint of cold, dark Guinness with a good frothy head on it. Sam’s initial joy at seeing his friend soon turned to concern however as he really looked at his face. There was a strange, almost haunted look in the bookshop owner’s eyes.

“Is it your aunt?” Sam asked, knowing what day it was, and how hard it still was for the slightly older man.

Jim continued to stare at his drink for several moments, the concerning look in his blue eyes never leaving them. Suddenly, he gripped his mug and began to down it as though trying to drown himself. Finally, the vessel half empty and Jim’s close cropped beard retaining the remnants of the beverage’s foam, he put it back down on the bar, but his eyes never left it. After a moment, he shook his head and said, “No. Not this time, mate.”

“What then?” Sam asked.

Unbeknownst to either of them, the door to the pub opened at that moment, and a figure dressed in a dark woolen fog coat and equally dark clothes under it slipped into the establishment and took a seat at the end of the bar, but close enough to hear their conversation. He had long dark hair tied back into a neat tail, and a few days worth of beard growth. He ordered a simple beer and nursed it in his black gloved hands as he kept his face averted from Sam and Jim, but his ears open, and his eyes moving so he could catch glimpses of what was happening.

Jim hesitated at Sam’s question. It was unusual for him. Jim could be reserved at times, it was true, but they’d known each other now for several years and there wasn’t much Jim hadn’t told him in that time. The same was true of Sam to him. Jim knew about Sam’s crush on Rose McAllister, one of his co-workers at the supermarket, and how he always froze up when he tried to talk to her. Sam knew about the girl from Cambridge that Jim took out once right before his uncle died, and how she might have been the tipping point for him going back to his studies if he hadn’t heard she’d hooked up with another undergrad.

“You know you can tell me anything, mate.” Sam told him. Jim’s behavior was worrying him. “What’s wrong?”

Jim took his left hand and dug into the front pocket of his trousers. He retrieved something and brought his hand up and put that something on the bar between them. “I found this at the river’s edge when I was walking home tonight.” he told him as he took his hand away.

Sam looked down at what his friend had placed on the bar. It was a silver ring inscribed inside and out with elvish lettering of the kind he’d seen in the games and books they shared a love of. He recognized it of course.

“It’s a ring.” Sam said, stating the obvious, still not understanding what had so spooked his friend. “Pretty cool actually. It looks like one of those replicas you can buy from the specialty shops online. Course this one’s silver. Kind of like Celebrimbor’s ring from _Shadow of War_.”

“Wait, what?” Jim asked. “Celebrimbor’s ring? What are you talking about, Sam?”

“You don’t know? You haven’t played it yet, have you? Seen any of the YouTube videos on it?” Sam asked, still getting a blank look in response. “I’m surprised, seeing as you’re such a Tolkien fan and all.”

“Tolkien never wrote about Celebrimbor having a ring of his own.” Jim replied.

“Well, no. It’s part of the story from _Middle Earth: Shadow of Mordor_ and its sequel, _Shadow of War_. Long story short, it’s about this ranger from Gondor who gets killed and then gets possessed by Celebrimbor who shares his body while they both seek revenge against Sauron hundreds of years before _The Lord of the Rings_. Really, I thought you’d know all about it.” Sam told him.

“I’ve heard of it. I just never got around to trying it.” Jim replied. “What about this ring?”

“Well, in the games, in order to challenge Sauron’s power in Mordor, Celebrimbor creates a second ‘One Ring.’ But this one was created without Sauron’s life force, and without his corruption. They use it to dominate orcs and form an army to keep Sauron at bay.”

“What happened to this ring?” Jim asked, his attention focused on Sam, but his eyes never leaving the silver circle on the bar.

“Well, it’s never quite certain. At the end of the last DLC which talks about it, the elf Eltariel takes the ring and wanders off in search of Celebrimbor’s ghost who got freed from Sauron when Sauron’s ring was destroyed. You don’t hear from her or the ring after that.” Sam told him.

The supermarket stocker studied his friend’s eyes more closely. There was a fear in them that he rarely if ever saw. “What’s all this about Jim? It’s just a game. It’s a good story, mind you, even if it don’t follow Tolkien exactly, but it’s still just a game.”

“I-” Jim began to say something, and then stopped just as suddenly. Then he said, “I think I might be going insane, Sam.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, now truly worried for his friend who never spoke like this.

“I-” He began again. “I put the ring on after I found it, and… I-”

Just then, the man who had been sitting at the end of the bar appeared as if from nowhere standing in between them and covering the sight of the ring from the rest of the pub so only the three of them could see it.

“Good evening, friends.” The dark haired stranger told them, speaking with a light accent which might have been Italian, or even Spanish. “I don’t think you want to be talking about this in the open any longer.”

“Who the bloody hell are you, mate?” Sam asked in surprise. “And what business is it of yours?”

“Two questions I will be happy to answer, my friends. Just not here, and not in the open. That is no mere trinket you have found, Mr. Frudd. I strongly suggest you return it to your pocket, and we all retire to my room at the Drake down the street. I promise to answer any questions you might have after that.” The stranger told them.

“Is this some kind of a joke? You having a bit of fun with me, Jim?” Sam asked with a smile, turning to look at his friend. But Jim was not smiling.

“Jim?” Sam asked again.

“Am I going insane?” Jim asked the stranger.

“No.” The stranger replied. “And it is no joke, I assure you, Mr. Ogden.”

Sam’s smile died on his face. “Look, whoever you are, I don’t know what you’ve done to my friend here, but we’re not going anywhere with you until we start getting some answers right here and right now.”

Sam’s tone of voice rose in anger, and the other bar patrons were beginning to stare. Sensing this, and with the air of a man for whom discretion is a way of life, the stranger leaned into them both and said, “My name is Estel en Aran, and right now I’m the person you need to trust.” He then quickly pushed up the sleeve from his right forearm to expose a tattoo to them alone.

The tattoo was of a dark purple, almost black background with a white tree standing in the middle. Seven white stars surrounded its branches.

“That’s-” Jim began, recognizing the crest and looking as if he might be further doubting his sanity.

Sam recognized it too. “That’s the crest of Gondor, from the movies.”

Estel en Aran gave a slight smile as he covered his forearm once more quickly. “It’s the crest of Numenor, and its far older than either Peter Jackson’s or Tolkien’s works.”

“I think I need to lie down.” Jim said. “Please. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“My lodging is just down the street. I promise, I mean neither of you any harm. But we really should be going. Right now.” The stranger told them.

“Why?” Sam asked, persistent in his protective stubbornness.

“Because I was not the only one paying attention to the North Yorkshire Police’s Facebook posts.” Estel en Aran told them in all seriousness. “They effectively told the whole world where to find what your friend picked up from the water tonight.”

“And that’s bad?” Sam said, coming around to the gravity of their situation, albeit slowly.

“For you and Mr. Frudd here? Moreso than you can possibly imagine.” The stranger told them with no glint of humor in his eyes.

“I think we should go with him, Sam.” Jim said, looking as if he was going to be ill. “None of it makes any sense. What I saw-”

“You can tell us both about in just a little while behind closed doors.” He reiterated, looking at them both.

“Alright then. Let’s go. But you try anything, and you can be sure I’ll drop you before you can blink. Just so we understand each other, Mr. en Aran.” Sam told him.

“So noted, my friend.” He told them, a respect for Sam in his eyes. “Now let us go.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Goole, Yorkshire in England...

The three men crossed Calder Street and headed down Aire Street towards The Drake Sports Bar, leaving the green and rose colored exterior lights of The Jailhouse behind. The man in the lead, dressed in dark clothes, was taller than the other two, maybe even by a full head, and had a longer stride than most, reaching the door of the establishment within a few minutes, followed by Jim and Sam who found themselves having trouble keeping up. The man who had called himself “Estel” opened the door politely for the other two and then followed them in behind. He lead them up the brown striped staircase to the guestrooms above the bar and to a nondescript white door which he opened with a key, waving the other two inside before closing the door behind them.

The guestroom of The Drake was not large and spacious like many modern hotels and lodgings. In comparison it felt somewhat cramped, but it was clean and well kept. The building itself had been a bank at one point, and then the Dock Offices for the Goole before it had been renovated and turned into an inn to help accommodate the growing number of tourists to their little town. The maid service had already been in, and the bed was turned down and ready for its occupant.

Estel gestured for Jim to sit or lie on the bed as it suited him, knowing that the book shop keeper was feeling unwell after the experiences he had that night. Jim sat on the bed for a few moments, looking as if he might lie down, but then thought better of it. Sam, his friend, chose to remain standing, keeping one eye on their “host” and one on his mate.

“Alright. We’re here. We’re in private. Now tell us what’s happening, _friend_.” Sam then told their host.

“First, let me ask Mr. Frudd, what did you see when you put on the ring?” Estel replied in his strange, continental accent which neither of the other men could quite place.

Sam’s eyes darted to the man sitting on the bed. “What’s he talking about, Jim?”

“I- I was about to tell you at The Jailhouse, Sam. I put the ring on and then the world just went… wrong. It went blurry, and I started seeing ghastly shapes, and I felt… I felt…” Jim tried to describe what he had experienced.

“Powerful.” Estel finished for him. “Like you could raise up armies with only your will and conquer the world as if it were nothing.”

“Yes. I feared I was going mad with delusional hallucinations.” Jim confirmed for him.

“Wait, what?” Sam asked. “You can’t be serious, Jim. This is what’s troubling you?”

Jim was silent at Sam’s disbelief. His expression was confused, hurt, and deeply unsettled. “It’s why I had a hard time saying it, Sam. I wouldn’t have believed it either.”

The tall, dark stranger stood silent with his hands clasped in front of them, allowing them this exchange until they both turned to look at him once more for the answers he promised. He took a breath and sighed, imagining how what he was about to say would be taken by any rational individual in the modern age.

“John Ronald Reuel Tolkien did not invent the stories of the ring and Middle Earth,” Estel began, having rehearsed this inevitable speech in his head, “he found them somewhere on the continent when he was stationed there during the first world war.”

“He found them? You must be mistaken. He spent decades inventing the languages and the world.” Jim answered.

“No. He spent decades translating and understanding what he found.” Estel countered. “None of us knew about it until his first book was published in 1937, and even then the extent of what he obtained wasn’t known until _The Lord of the Rings_ was fully published in 1956.”

“None of you. Who are you? Part of some secret organization?” Sam asked, a tinge of sarcasm to his words.

“In a manner of speaking.” Estel replied.

“What does this have to do with the ring I found?” Jim then asked. “Even if all that is true, according to Tolkien, the One Ring was destroyed by Frodo in Mount Doom.”

“And it was. But not Celebrimbor’s ring. The one his specter misguidedly forged with the help of a Gondorian ranger.” Estel responded, gesturing with his had towards the outline of a ring visible in the cloth of Jim’s trousers.

“That wasn’t part of Tolkien. That was something some game developer came up with to make money.” Jim told him.

“We don’t know how Monolith games discovered the existence of Celebrimbor’s ring. It could have been a developer on holiday to France or Germany. It could have been notes stolen from the Tolkien estate which they never released to the public. It could have been an extraordinary coincidence. At this point, it doesn’t matter. The ring is real, as you have discovered to the detriment of your constitution, Mr. Frudd.” Estel en Aran told them. “And it is sitting in your pocket.”

Sam looked back and forth between their host and his best mate trying to wrap his head around what was happening. The whole conversation was surreal, and he didn’t know what to make of any of it except both the man towering over them both and his friend were both stark raving mad. It was nonsense, all of it. But it was nonsense Jim was taking with a deadly seriousness. Sam sighed wearily in response to all of it, but continued to listen for his friend’s sake.

“Alright.” Sam then said, trying to bring some semblance of reason to it all. “There’s a lot you know about this that we don’t. Maybe you should start from the beginning and bring us up to speed.”

Estel looked at Sam and replied, “Fair enough.” He then looked around and spied two modern looking chairs crammed against one of the walls of his guestroom and pulled one of them to where he could sit facing them both and gestured for Sam to do the same.

“As I have told you, my name is Estel en Aran. I am one of the last surviving descendants of King Eldarion of the reunited kingdom of Arnor and Gondor eight thousand years ago. Two hundred years after the reign of my ancestor, the waters from the ocean flooded Eriador, destroying most of the north and leaving only what is now the British Isles in its wake. That upheaval changed coastlines and mountains, and finished the destruction of Numenor’s civilization that Sauron had begun. It was a terrible dark age. Some of the survivors took what knowledge of those times which remained and moved on into the south and east into what is now called the Middle East and the regions around the Mediterrainean which were warm and fertile. Some, like my ancestors, remained behind to attempt to rebuild. When that failed, they turned to preserving our history, language, and culture. It was during this time that those tasked with preserving our ancient records and histories discovered the existence of the second ring carried by the elf woman, Eltariel, after the fall of Barad-Dur. My ancestors took it upon themselve to finish what the fellowship of the nine started and see to it that this ring too was destroyed if at all possible. I can’t trace the exact history of the ring after it passed out of Eltariel’s hands, but I can tell you that my people tracked it to ancient Assyria, Babylon, Macedonia, India, China, France, Germany; anywhere the ring went, a would be world conqueror arose. Sennacherib, Alexander, Darius, Julius Caesar, Genghis Khan, Napolean Bonaparte and others. But the ring always remained one step ahead of us. The last would be world conqueror to possess it committed suicide in a bunker in Germany in 1945. We think it came into the possession of a U.S. soldier after that who gambled it away to a British army officer where the trail went cold until last year when the North Yorkshire police discovered it among a cache of stolen property during a raid in York. Being the good public servants that they are, and not having a clue what it was they held in their evidence lock up, they put out a public advertisement on social media for the rightful owner to come and claim it. I was astounded that it might finally be secured so easily after so many centuries. Like millions of other people, I saw the BBC’s news report on it, but when I arrived at the station to attempt to claim it, the ring had somehow disappeared once more.”

“How did you know to look here, in Goole of all places?” Jim asked.

“Call it a hunch.” Estel responded. “Goole is downriver from York, and from centuries of my people observing the ring’s movements, I knew it had a habit of following river currents, and tended to show up in the most unlikely of places. I’ve been watching the river for the last several days for anything unusual until I spied you, Mr. Frudd, pluck something out of the water.”

“But how could you know it was this ring?” Jim pressed. “It could have been anything, a pretty stone I fancied perhaps.”

“Because I saw you put it on, Mr. Frudd, and I saw you vanish from sight under the lamp post when you did.” Estel en Aran replied. “Only one trinket that I know of is capable of that.”

“Hang on.” Sam interrupted. “You’re saying Jim here disappeared when he put it on, just like Frodo and Bilbo in the movies?”

“Yes.” Estel replied. “And then he reappeared moments later, standing in exactly the same spot with a terrified expression on his face. It’s the effect Sauron’s ring had on any mortal who wore it, and it stood to reason that Celebrimbor’s ring would have the same effect. But there are no records from that time about it because those who first bore it were not mortal.”

Both Jim and Sam absorbed this new information for several moments. Finally, Jim asked, “You said there were others who saw the same advertisement. You don’t seem keen on them finding it.”

Estel took a deep breath and sighed once more. “Sauron was defeated, but his spirit could never truly be killed. My people believe it still influences people in this world albeit weakly and indirectly, taking advantage of their fears and prejudices. Adolph Hitler and his national socialists were among these so influenced. We think he first encountered the ring when he was a German officer in France during the first world war. It was a secret he confided to a very few trusted lieutenants. After the war, those who survived sought to recover the ring and re-establish the reich under a new Fuhrer, but by the time they could access Hitler’s bunker and personal effects, it was gone. From what we know, they dispersed and began new underground fascist groups around Europe and Russia with the idea that once the ring was found, their new reich would finally rise up and reign for the thousand years which their Fuhrer promised. I encountered two of them in York a month ago not far from the police station.”

“You speak like you might have been there in 1945.” Sam remarked.

“I was.” Estel replied. “My brothers and I fought with the Americans when they took Berlin.”

“That’s not possible. You don’t look any older than forty at most.” Jim replied in disbelief.

“I was born in 1917. I just celebrated my one hundred and third birthday in February.” Estel answered with no trace of deceit in his features.

“You’re…” Sam couldn’t believe he was saying it out loud. “You’re really a Numenorean, then. Aren’t you?”

“Yes. There are very few of us left in the world now. The only ones who are left are myself and my kinsmen on the continent. Maybe a few dozen at most. All that is left of that once proud island empire.” Estel replied with no little resignation in his voice.

“Tolkien said once, maybe more than once, that he had visions or memories of the sinking of Atlantis. He said that his writing of the destruction of Numenor was his attempt to get them out of his head.” Jim remarked thoughtfully.

“I can’t speak to that. As far as I know he wasn’t one of my kin, though after so many millennia, who can know?” Estel responded.

After a few more moments, Jim dug into his pocket and produced the object which had turned his life and his understanding of reality upside down within the space of a couple of hours. He held it in his left hand for a few moments as though weighing a decision, and then he held it out to the Numenorean who sat in front of him.

“Here. Take it then.” Jim told him. “I don’t want it, and if what you say is even half true, you’re as close to a rightful owner as it gets.”

But unexpectedly, Estel shrank back from his outstretched hand. “Don’t. I honestly don’t want to even touch it.”

“What? After that whopper of a story, why?” Sam asked in confusion.

“That ring was forged without Sauron’s corrupting life force, but it has passed through the hands of nearly every dictator and conqueror this world has ever seen.” Estel told them. “Each time it has changed hands over eight thousand years, the man holding it reaches for more power and is willing to go to further extremes of atrocity to achieve it. The last man to hold it was unspeakably evil, and the result was the death of millions in extermination camps. What could I do with such power? To what extremes could I be driven to achieve it? No. I will take the path of my ancestor Elessar and refuse it. No. I sought the ring, not to claim it, but to destroy it once and for all.”

“So what then do you expect me to do now?” Jim asked. “If all this is true, I’d gladly be rid of it. But if you won’t take it, what do I do with it? How do I destroy it?”

“That is a good question, and one my people have been trying to answer for a very long time.” the Numenorean said. “Celebrimbor’s ring, like Sauron’s, was forged in Mount Doom. Like Sauron’s then, it could be destroyed in the same place except…”

“Except Mount Doom no longer exists.” Sam finished his thought for him. “It was destroyed when the ring was destroyed.”

“All of Mordor was reshaped into something unrecognizable now. The modern world calls that place ‘Hungary’, and the nearest volcano to it is inactive in Romania with a village planted on top.” Estel told him.

“What about another volcano, then? Like Mount Etna in Italy?” Sam asked.

“And risk the destruction of all of Sicily and southern Italy with it?” Estel returned. “Hundreds of thousands of people would die, and neither I nor my kin are prepared to be responsible for that.”

“So what then happens now?” Jim asked.

“If you would be agreeable to it, Mr. Frudd, I would ask that you would come home with me.” The Numenorean told him.

“And where is home?” Jim asked with some trepidation and a growing pit in his stomach.

“My people still maintain something of an enclave at my grandmother’s property on the border between Germany and the Czech Republic. We can be there tomorrow or the day after if we take the trains.” Estel replied. “It’s a little more complicated after what you call Brexit, but not by much.”

After what seemed like some deep internal debate, Sam then said aloud, “If Jim’s going, I’m coming too.”

“No, Sam, you can’t. I can close my bookshop for however long I like if I want to go on holiday, but you’ve got your job at the supermarket. You can’t just leave without telling them.” Jim protested.

“I can talk to Mr. Casey when it opens up first thing in the morning and tell him it’s an emergency. That’s the truth anyhow. He’ll let me do what I need to. He’s always been good to us like that.” Sam said, referring to the store manager.

“Good enough.” Estel told him, seemingly unsurprised at Sam’s declaration. “Well then, I suggest you both return to your homes and get what travel documents you need, and pack lightly for the trip; a rucksack at most if you’ve got one. Meet me back here tomorrow morning. I’ll have the travel arrangements taken care of for the three of us.”

“Okay.” Sam responded, almost in spite of himself. Jim responded with the same.

The Numenorean had only these words more before they parted, “I need not tell you, Mr. Frudd. Keep that ring secret. Keep it safe. We cannot afford to lose this opportunity which has been given to us.”

* * *

Dimitry watched the three men enter The Drake sports bar with rapt interest from the nondescript blue Volkswagen he had “appropriated” in York after they had just come out of The Jailhouse. After they had entered, he exited the auto quietly, leaving it where it was parked with no fingerprints to identify him with. Waiting just a few minutes, he crossed the street and entered the Drake himself, careful to note the exits, how many people were in the dining room, and where the best place for him to watch who came and went was. He chose a seat near the door and ordered an ale, intending to nurse it for as long as he needed to. Occasionally, he glanced at the wide screen projection of some rugby game which had taken place earlier in the day somewhere in the world as though he was taking a real interest. In reality, he had little idea or care about how the “English” game was even played.

Two short Englishmen and one not had entered. The one who was not he had followed discreetly from York after he lost contact with his brother Ivan, and their other man, Rickert there. The tall man with the ponytail had arrived before them, and had been making inquiries from the English police before they could about the ring which had been found. It was intended to be a clean operation, and made to look like a mugging. They had tapped the CCTV feed to keep the local police in the dark. No one would know what the real target was except the man’s wallet and wristwatch.

Dimitry lost contact with them after that. He arrived at the alley which was their predetermined kill box only to find the local coppers swarming all over it and two bagged bodies being loaded into an ambulance. Neither his brother nor the German man had been weak or unskilled, the three of them having served not long ago as mercenaries to do the Russian president’s dirty work in Chechnya and later in the eastern Ukraine. No one had ever accused any of them of being “soft” when they worked.

Dimitry had loved his brother. They had grown up on the streets of St. Petersburg with just each other after their father had walked out and their mother had died from too much vodka. They had served in the same unit when conscripted by Russia’s military, and afterwards had gone on to be “private contractors” as the Americans liked to euphemize. They had also been part of the same brotherhood, the same dream that saw a new world order on the horizon which put all the races in their proper order. He loved him, but he could not even identify him for the police. He could not identify himself for them either, not unless he wanted MI-6 to pay him a visit while he was filling out paperwork. If they knew he and his brother were in the UK, they would be most interested in keeping them there. That was not an option if their mission for the brotherhood was to succeed.

He did not know if the tall man had ever acquired the Fuhrer’s ring from the police, only that they no longer had it. That it was the Fuhrer’s ring and not some cheap nerd’s toy was clear to the elders of the brotherhood who recognized it from the police photos. It was the deep engravings inside and out which gave it away. Almost all of the fanboy fakes were of a gold color, and laser etched, if they were truly engraved at all. No, this was done by a master craftsman. The light it gave off, even in the photos, was indicative of it as well.

After a couple of hours, the two short men came down the stairs from the guestrooms and left the building once more. They seemed to be nobodies, locals from the small English port town that had probably never traveled more than twenty miles from their home in their lives. Still, he made it a point to memorize their features as best he could in the event that the tall man wanted more from them than just a few beers and laughs. They could have been decoys, or they could have been couriers. Either way, he determined to look into them if he couldn’t find what he was looking for with the tall man.

But he did not want to underestimate this dark haired man ever again. Doing so had cost him his brother.

The two nobodies had come from the left of the stairs before they had descended. The tall man’s room must therefore have been to the left. The sports bar was not particularly busy that night, and it only boasted ten guestrooms in all. He could find the tall man’s room by process of elimination before any authorities were alerted, he was certain.

Discreetly, he finished his ale, and non-chalantly approached the steps and made his way up to the guestrooms as though he belonged there, pausing once or twice to stare at the television with his deep blue eyes for good effect, even grimacing when one of the teams had scored as though truly upset by it. This was not his first time.

There were five rooms to the left, and five to the right. Three of them from the left had their doors left open as a housekeeper went through, taking advantage of the slow night to catch up on her cleaning from less than clean guests earlier in the day. That left two closed doors.

Two doors to choose from. Ten seconds to kick one open and surprise whoever was inside. Another twenty or so to hit the second one if the first was wrong. Possibly two or more collateral damage if the housekeeper was included, not including his primary target. All told, he’d give it three, maybe four minutes to hit both rooms and take out any witnesses before local police arrived. It was doable, if messy.

Dimitry could live with messy.

Just as he was about to carry out his plan with the door at the end of the hallway, the second door opened and a pretty if plump young blond woman exited with a distinctly cheery “Hallo, there love! Come to see that new foreign gent next door?”

in his best British accent, Dimitry replied, “Yeah, he’s an old mate of mine from the service. I promised I’d look ‘im up if he ever came this way.”

“Well there, love. Once you’re finished reliving old times with ‘im, maybe you’d like to meet me downstairs for a pint. I’ve nothing better to do all night.” She responded with a somewhat sassy tone and a naughty smile as she sized him up with her eyes.

Before he could think it through, he instinctively responded in character, “Oh, you can count on it, there now.”

The blond gave a low purr in response, and said, “don’t keep me waiting too long then.” before she departed for the dining room sashaying just a bit to accentuate her curves.

Dimitry blinked once or twice wondering what made him respond like that, and smiled at her until she was out of sight. Then the smile faded even as he silently thanked the English slut for making his job that much easier. He might even take her up on it if the night proved as fruitful as he had hoped.

He carefully withdrew his nine millimeter from inside his brown leather jacket and attached the silencer he carried to it. Just then, the motor from the housekeeper’s vacuum went on.

_So much the better._ He thought. _This night might go easier than I thought._

On a whim, he tried the doorknob first. Quietly and slowly. It wasn’t locked. He carefully opened the door, weapon out and leading the way. The main bed chamber was empty, but he could distinctly hear the sound of the shower running coming from the bathroom. He crept quietly to the where the water was running behind a partially open door. Steam was beginning to drift from the brass and glass fixtures inside out into the main room.

Suddenly, he kicked the bathroom door open and aimed his weapon at the glass enclosed shower stall. But he didn’t fire. There was no one there. Not in the shower, not on the toilet, and not in the guestroom at all. It was completely empty and swept clean. He ignored the running shower and returned to the main bed chamber.

Frustrated, Dimitry searched through the drawers and fixtures of the room quickly for anything which might have given him a clue as to the tall man’s whereabouts, but found nothing. The tall man apparently knew how to play this game too, and how to play it well.

“Govno.” He swore in his native tongue.

* * *

Estel en Aran followed Jim all the way back to his house that night, having immediately turned on the shower in his guestroom once the bookshop owner and his friend had departed, packing what possessions he had in the room quickly and efficiently, and quickly climbing out the window and down onto the street, being careful to close to window behind him as he did. He didn’t know for certain, but suspected that he himself was being watched if not followed. If he was, all his tail would find should he choose to make himself known was an empty room. If he wasn’t, then The Drake might have an unusually large water bill from the shower running all night for no reason. He would return in the morning to settle up his bill, and meet his two new acquaintances just as he promised. But first, he would ensure they both made it home.

Every so often, the hard weight of the blades he carried at his back under his fog coat reminded him of their presence. They were little more than long knives in leather sheathes he had picked up locally, but they had done their jobs well in York. A Glock-19 sat comfortably in a nylon weave holster at his left breast as well. He was out to murder no one, but he would not be caught defenseless. He might be long lived for a human being, but he was not immortal in any sense of the word. Not like some of his legendary forebears. That very fact had been tested again and again throughout the twentieth century of this age, and well into the twenty first.

Jim of course was the priority for him to watch. There was no question. He had to be certain the Englishman wasn’t followed by compatriots of those he dispatched twenty miles north. When he was safely in his own house, Estel would double back and check on the supermarket clerk who lived not far away in a flat by himself. He knew this because of a quick internet background search for a one Samuel Ogden of Goole, Yorkshire on the prepaid smart phone he had purchased two days before. The young man had lived there on his own since he moved out of his parents’ house on the other side of town at the age of twenty three. He’d been a good man, it seemed, having run into no trouble with the law. That was all the information he could find out then and there about him as he tried to stay out of sight while tailing Jim Frudd home. Mr. Frudd’s background search hadn’t revealed much more of any interest. He’d been at Cambridge for a couple of years when he was younger, and had otherwise lived in the same house since he was ten with his aunt and uncle, now deceased. He also had never run afoul of the police. Both held valid passports. Sam had visited Spain on holiday once a few years back, and Jim had journeyed recently to France, having stayed in Paris for a few nights before returning home. Both were avid players of the MMORPG, _Lord of the Rings Online_ , and held paid subscriptions as opposed to the free to play option. From what he had heard that night as well, Jim Frudd’s personal knowledge of what were known as “Tolkien’s works” went much deeper than just that.

It was amazing what kind information one could learn with a few taps on a screen in this day and age for just a few hundred euros.

_Frudd_ and _Sam_. The names themselves were strikingly appropriate to the matter at hand, and that fact was not lost on the Numenorean. It was as if a divine hand were arranging things just so. Time would tell if that were true.

Jim Frudd reached the door of his home, turned the key, and went inside. Estel waited for another ten minutes, listening and watching for anything which might be amiss with the bookish man. When he was satisfied, he left Mr. Frudd to his own devices for the moment and checked in on Sam Ogden at his flat before circling back towards the Drake that night and observing the lit window of his guestroom for over an hour before being satisfied there was no one there to surprise him. Still, if it were him, he would have waited quietly in the room for its occupant to return with the door closed and no one the wiser.

His senses alert and watching for anything, he expertly and discreetly scaled the red brick of the Drake and returned to his still unlatched window, sliding it open quietly and slipping back into the room. The shower was still running as he had left it, but the door to the bathroom had been opened wider and there was a black mark from a rubber boot against the white paint. He scanned the room for other signs, finding little things like the blankets of his bedding being disturbed, drawers not fully closed as he had left them, and the chairs were not in the same positions as when he had first left.

_So I am being followed._ He decided. _That was faster than I expected. And you didn’t find what you were looking for, did you, my unknown friend?_

He pulled out his smart phone once more, now knowing the truth of the matter, and bought passage for himself and his two knew companions all the way to Dresden in Germany for the following day. Then, satisfied with the arrangements, he sent a text to an unlisted number only he and a few others knew:

_It’s here. Will be coming home with friends._

He waited a few minutes before he received a reply:

_Understood. Be careful, my hope._

He read the reply, then removed the battery from the smart phone, and the SIM card, and smashed both the card and the phone with the hilt of one of his knives until neither were recoverable. He pocketed the pieces of both into his long coat, intending to dispose of them in the river before he met Sam and Jim in the morning.

He also made a mental note to pick up another smart phone before leaving for Germany.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The tall dark haired man was waiting for them in the dining room of The Drake Sports Bar the next morning. He was sitting at a table across to the side with his back against a wall which gave him a clear field of view of the entire establishment. His clothes had not changed since the night before, and he still wore his long dark fog coat buttoned up to just about mid chest, revealing the hint of an olive green woolen sweater of a kind military men might wear and the hint of collar of a dark colored shirt underneath it. A black nylon weave rucksack sat on the floor close to his ebony boots which would have looked more at home on a policeman. His hands were still encased in black leather gloves, even as he ate. On the table in front of him were the remains of a solid English breakfast, and a second cup of bracing black tea only slightly lightened by the milk and sugar which had been added.

Sam and Jim had arrived together just after eight in the morning. Sam wore a pair of blue jeans, tennis shoes and an old canvas jacket over a polo shirt. He had a worn military surplus rucksack slung across his back. Jim wore much the same clothes he did the day before, and carried a small blue dufflebag. Having spied their unusual and potentially legendary acquaintance upon entry to the establishment, they went over to sit down in the seats opposite him at the table. A waiter came over to ask their order, but both had eaten prior to coming. The rest of the dining room was half full with patrons variously eating and waiting on their meals to come. They both recognized most, but not all of them from the town.

“You’re together. Good.” Estel remarked when they sat down. “That makes things simpler. I trust you both got some sleep last night?”

He of course knew the answer to that question himself. After allowing himself a few hours of sleep, he went to check on both men and knew that they had both gone to bed in the wee hours of the morning and had met up at Jim’s house to walk to Sam’s employer together. It was a smart move and he had approved. It had given him enough reassurance to return to the inn and eat his own breakfast before they arrived.

“Little enough.” Sam replied. “Mr. Casey was nice enough about all of it and let me have a few days, but said I’d have to be back no later than the end of the week. I was up till late last night tryin’ to figure out what to tell him, and figure out what I’d need for a trip to…”

But Estel stopped him from speaking just then with a gesture. In a lower voice he told them both, “Where we’re going is not for other ears to hear right now.”

“Why the secrecy?” Jim asked in an equally low voice.

“Do you remember my telling you that there were… other interested parties?” Estel asked them both.

“Yeah. Some brotherhood or some such.” Sam responded in the same low voice.

“My room was broken into last night while I was out.” He then informed them. “I have every reason to believe the person responsible is in this dining room this morning.” Then quickly as both men began to turn in response, he added, “No, don’t turn around. I don’t know who it is for certain.”

“So then what do we do?” Jim asked, worry etched on his sleep deprived face. He wasn’t used to getting less than eight hours a night.

“We be careful.” The Numenorean answered. He checked his wristwatch. It was one of those shock resistant time pieces with a hundred features no regular person actually uses. “And now, we must be going.”

Estel then stood up and withdrew a wad of banknotes from his coat pocket, picked through them quickly and, withdrawing a fifty pounder he dropped it on his table next to his empty plate. It surprised both of the other men as his meal couldn’t have cost more than ten, but neither remarked on it. He then led them out of the Drake and down the street. After a few minutes, he quickly and discreetly looked to see if anyone else had departed the inn.

“Where exactly are we going?” Sam asked him.

“We need to be at St. Pancras station in London no later than two o’clock this afternoon. We have passage on the Eurostar to Brussels from there.” He responded as they continued walking around the roundabout and up Boothferry Road toward’s Goole’s train station. “With any luck, we should be in Germany by tomorrow morning.”

“Right. Germany.” Sam replied. “Never been there before myself, but my folks took a trip to Wittenburg once.”

“Before we go to the station, I have to stop by the mobile phone shop in town.” Estel then told them.

“It’s too early. They won’t be open until half past nine.” Sam replied. “What do you need there.”

“Another phone.” the Numenorean answered. “That’s too late if we’re going to make the Eurostar on time.”

“Might be able to pick one up in Sheffield, or at King’s Cross when we get in.” Jim offered.

“That’ll have to do.” Estel responded as they reached Goole’s station.

* * *

Dimitry had been sitting across the dining room of The Drake watching the tall man while pretending to be interested in what the blond English slut had to say about her semi-amusing life in London. He had decided to take her up on that drink after finding nothing in the tall man’s room, and later had followed her to her own guestroom where she had been moderately entertaining the rest of the night. She was still unknowingly proving her usefulness to him by throwing off the tall man’s suspicions. Dimitry was Russian, but his blond haired and blue eyed features were more northern European than many of his countrymen, and he found he could reasonably pass for German, Swedish, or even English when the need arose. At this point, she helped him blend in as a tourist from somewhere else in that god forsaken country even better.

As she continued to babble on about her girlfriend’s ex boyfriend, the two short men entered the inn. He could see the features of both quite clearly now, and both, like the tall man, were packed for a trip. Thinking quickly, he pulled out his mobile phone and said, “Oy now. Let me get a picture of you, love so I can remember us.”

Obviously flattered, the slut put on the loveliest smile she could and he snapped a photo. Unknown to her, she wasn’t actually the focus of it. Instead, he was able to capture the faces of all three of his targets clearly with her somewhat attractive features only mildly interfering in the foreground. He would be ribbed about it by his compatriots who received it, he was certain, but it couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t the first woman who ended up in his messages to the brotherhood, though most didn’t survive the “honor.”

After a few minutes of conversation which he couldn’t hear for the other talking in the room, his three targets abruptly got up, threw a bank note on the table and left quickly out the front doors. Waiting until the door to the inn had just closed, he looked at his watch casually and then announced to his dining companions, “Is that the time? I’m sorry, love. I’ve got to run. I’ve got to catch the eight thirty to Sheffield.”

She protested, but he brushed her off. “Thanks for breakfast.” He reached into his wallet and magnanimously pulled out two twenty pound notes before leaving the table, “It’s on me. See you around.”

Cheapest he’d ever paid for a whore.

Dimitry found himself out on the street. Looking this way and that, he spied them down the road headed for the roundabout. It wasn’t hard to guess where they were going. They were all lightly packed for a trip, and the train station for the town lie in that direction. He followed at a distance.

Out in the open, he had no advantages. They were minutes from the local police station, and he couldn’t just shoot them in broad daylight with people out on the street. The tall man had training, that much was certain, and was able to dispatch his brother and comrade both. It was dubious whether or not he would be able to subdue him quickly, if at all. The other two were no threat, but the tall man was a problem.

He continued to tail them, following at a distance. Within ten minutes, he found himself waiting at the ticket counter of the station behind them, pretending to be busy checking messages on his mobile. He took the opportunity to message the photo to his “friends.”

“Three tickets to Sheffield on the eight thirty.” The tall man requested, paying out the fees in cash.

Dimitry kept his ears open for any hints as to where they might be going after that, but they were surprisingly tight lipped, and sparse in their conversation. His targets finished their business at the counter and it was his turn.

“One to Sheffield on the eight thirty.” He requested, paid the man in cash, and then went to wait at a casual distance from them.

The two shorter men looked nervous and worried. The tall man kept his eyes moving around the platform. He moved like a trained fighter or martial artist moved with a certain grace and confidence. There was something more about him that Dimitry couldn’t quite place. His eyes held an expression he’d only seen in men like himself who’d been in combat, and something more. There was a look in them which he’d only seen in the elderly, like everywhere he turned there was a memory. It was strange to see in someone who looked no more than forty. It made Dimitry all the more wary of him.

“Last time I was on the continent was to buy books in Paris for my shop a few years back.” The shorter bearded man with the spectacles said suddenly, and Dimitry silently thanked the nobody for it even as he kept his eyes trained on his mobile. “Paris is one of the best places for old books. You can find some really nice editions from the street vendors.”

“So it is.” The tall man replied hesitatingly.

_They’re traveling to the continent._ Dimitry thought. _That means they’ll most likely be taking the Eurostar which stops in Brussels._ There were other means of getting across the channel, but the Eurostar was the quickest and most efficient.

He sent another quick message to the brotherhood to have men ready for them when they stepped off the train in Belgium. It would be easier there than in London. Just then the sleek dark purple and yellow liveried train arrived and what passengers there were began to step off as those on the platform stepped on. Two cars up his targets stepped on board, and he did the same making his way to his own seat.

He would keep eyes on them for as long as he could, and then his brothers in the cause and he would dispose of them neatly once they stepped off the train in Brussels.

* * *

The ride south on the East Midlands Railway to London was long and somewhat boring if Jim was to be honest. The scenes of English countryside and towns from the rails began to blur one into another. He was also still feeling the effects of the four hours of sleep he got the night before, something to which he never subjected himself if he could help it. Every so often, he slipped his left hand into his pocket to reassure himself that the engraved silver ring was still there.

He still couldn’t believe this was all happening to him. What seemed like a harmless prank at first had ballooned into the completely inconceivable. Tolkien’s lore was _history_ not fantasy? The man sitting across the table from him was a hundred year old descendant of Numenorean kings? The ring which rested in his trouser pocket had been forged in the fires of Mt. Doom by the vengeful ghost of an elven craftsman, and had been worn by dozens of conquerors throughout recorded history? It was all so strange and surreal, and he would have believed none of it except… He had put the ring on. He couldn’t forget the images he had seen when he did. They invaded the dreams of what sleep he had gotten that night.

Not long after they left the station, the conductor came through and punched their tickets. After that they were left to their own devices. The man called Estel didn’t offer up much when they were in public, and didn’t encourage conversation either. Much of the five hour trip he appeared to have his own eyes closed, though whether he was actually napping or it was a ruse Jim wasn’t certain.

What made things even more intolerable was that he had not been able to enjoy a good smoke from his pipe since leaving his house with Sam earlier that morning. Nearly every public establishment forbade it, and there would be little change until they stepped off the trains and got to where they were going. It was a grievous annoyance to be certain.

“So, I suppose you’ve done much traveling then, Mr. en Aran?” Jim was taken out of his thoughts by Sam’s voice. “Seen a lot of the world?”

Jim looked to see their companion’s eyes opened. “A bit.” He responded without offering more details.

“If you don’t mind me asking, ‘Estel en Aran,’ where does that name come from?” Sam continued, clearly uncomfortable with the silence. “Is it Farsi, or from somewhere in the Middle East?”

“It’s Sindarin.” Estel answered him. “My grandmother chose ‘en Aran’ when governments began demanding surnames.”

“Sindarin? You mean it’s elvish.” Sam asked. “Seriously?”

The Numenorean nodded. “There are so many names and languages which have passed through Europe, few have ever questioned its origins.”

“Wait. That was in the early eighteen hundreds. Your grandmother is still alive?” Jim remarked with some surprise, remembering something he had read on the origins of surnames in Europe. “Just how old is she?”

Estel gave a brief smile and answered, “I’ll let you take your guesses. You’ll meet her tomorrow for yourself, as well as the rest of us who are left.”

The train continued on and pulled into the London station just before half past noon where they departed onto the platform. They had another hour and a half before their next train would depart for Brussels, and none of them had yet had lunch. They settled upon a nearby Korean restaurant called “Kimchee.” To be honest, Jim had never really taken a liking to Asian food, and Sam looked dubious about it too when their orders arrived, but they had few other options within short walking distance of St. Pancras International station. As they ate, Jim noticed Estel was somewhat distracted, and his eyes were not on his food.

“Not much for Korean food either?” Jim asked, sitting across from him once more.

“Don’t turn around.” Estel responded in a low voice. “Don’t do anything out of the ordinary, but we have had a shadow following us since Goole this morning. He was in the dining room of the Drake for breakfast. He stepped onto the train after us and got off when we did. Now, he’s having lunch on the other side of the restaurant.”

“What? Are you certain?” Jim asked, trying to control the panic he felt rising.

“Yes.” Estel responded.

“Well, what do we do?” Sam asked.

“Right now, nothing. If he realizes we know he’s there, he’s made no indication of it. But we do now know he is there, which gives us the advantage.” The Numenorean answered. “We’ll keep an eye on him and see what he does.”

“You’ve played this game before.” Sam observed.

“All too frequently.” Estel replied, a haunted look in his eyes. “The brotherhood and my family have crossed paths far too often throughout history. They may not knowingly serve Sauron’s defeated spirit, but they might as well. They seek to dominate and control, following Celebrimbor’s ring wherever it goes. In ancient times they served to expand the might of Rome. Wherever Rome’s armies marched, they were there. They later infiltrated the Church, and wormed their way into various European governments, supporting some houses while actively working against others. They were actively behind the French revolution, Napolean’s rise to power, and his subsequent march across Europe. Their objective now is to see Hitler’s dream of the thousand year reich to completion. I lost my father to them in the 1930s during the Nazis’ rise to power. My oldest brother Elnor was slain by them in 1946. Their obsession is reclaiming the ring, bringing the world into subjugation, and destroying anyone who tries to stop them.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Sam replied, not certain what to say to his response.

“Of course not. How could you?” Estel responded. “One way or the other, we will need to lose him before we reach our destination.”

“What do you mean, ‘One way or the other’?” Jim asked.

Estel didn’t answer him, but went back to his Korean bar-b-que.

They finished their meal, paid their bill, and casually left the restaurant. On their way to the Eurostar platform, made a purchase of another prepaid mobile smart phone and discreetly activated it. Before going through security, he hired a locker at the station and removed several items which neither Sam nor Jim could see from beneath his fog coat as his back was turned to them. When Sam inquired about it, he only replied, “Security doesn’t take kindly to certain kinds of carry-ons. I’d rather not have that kind of scrutiny upon us.” From there, they passed through security without incident and boarded their train at two.

Their shadow boarded the same train.

* * *

The sleek Eurostar train rocketed through the England coastline, through the sunken channel tunnel and across the continental landscape on its way to Brussels. It wasn’t the first time on the international train for any of them, but there was always the brief discomfort of the high speed acceleration to over a hundred and eighty miles per hour. Accompanied by the scant amount of rest, the stress of all that was happening, and the unused to Korean lunch he had partaken of, Jim was beginning to feel a bit nauseous from it all. That nausea continued for the next three and a half hours, making the trip between Belgium and France quite the miserable one. He decided then that after this whole affair was put to rest, his traveling days would be over once and for all. He would be content to stay in Yorkshire, manage the bookshop, and ignore any strange glintings tempting him from the Ouse.

He was beyond relieved when the high speed rail began to decelerate as it came into the Brussels-Zuid station. The scenes out the window by which he was sitting began to come back into better focus from the green and gray blur it had been to something more recognizable as town and countryside.

When the train finally stopped and they heard the call to disembark, Jim was out of his seat all too quickly, followed by Sam who had napped most of the way between London and Brussels, and appeared much more refreshed than Jim felt at the moment. Estel followed behind them, his eyes continuously moving as they passed through customs and presented their passports. As they did, Jim happened to glance at Estel’s information page. He noticed that the Numenorean offered what looked like a well used red European Union passport issued in Germany with the name of Ardal Konig, the place of birth to be Dresden, and a birthdate in 1980.

“ _Willkommen in Belgian, Herr Konig_.” The officer told him with a smile, his German laced with French accents.

“ _Danke mein Herr._ ” Estel replied in the same language with an easy, fluency.

They continued in like that for a minute or so. Jim’s German was poor, but he imagined it had to do with the same regulations and travel questions which the man next asked Jim himself in heavily accented English. The last to be subjected to the same inquisition was Sam.

Upon meeting up on the other side of customs, Jim asked him in a low voice as they walked, “Your passport says Ardal. Is that your name, or is it Estel?”

“Passports are required for travel in and out of Europe in this day and age. For a German passport, a German name was required.” The Numenorean replied. “My real name and age would unfortunately raise a few eyebrows. Ardal somewhat honors the ancient naming tradition in my family. In ten or twenty years I will have to choose a new one.”

“So it’s a fake?” Jim pressed.

“No. It’s real enough, even if the documentation used to acquire it from the German authorities was less than authentic. For the right price one can obtain any identity documents that can pass inspection.” Estel answered quietly. He then changed the subject and said, “Our next train leaves at five thirty. I need to retrieve some items from a luggage locker before then.”

“Yeah, of course. What items?” The Englishman asked.

But Estel was already heading towards the luggage lockers.

“Right then. I guess we don’t need to know that either.” Sam remarked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’d found ourselves in one of them spy movies, Jim.”

Jim nodded his agreement as they both hurried to catch up with the taller man who was already ten yards ahead of them. Estel then realized they weren’t right behind him, and turned back to see what the problem was. The expression on his face was clearly, “Are you coming?”

As they walked together through the crowds of people and past the vendors which are a given at any international stop, Jim noticed a seriousness and a concern growing on the Numenorean’s features. When he was about to ask, Estel beat him to it and said in a low voice, “Keep walking. Our shadow is back, and he’s brought friends.”

Jim obeyed, and Sam too having heard it. They reached the luggage lockers where Estel removed a key from inside his coat and retrieved a lightly packed, military green canvas duffelbag.

“Stand directly behind me and to the side.” He whispered to the two Englishmen. “And act like nothing I’m doing is out of the ordinary.”

They did as he asked, flanking him to either side so as to block the view of anyone else who might be watching. When they did, he quickly unzipped the duffel bag and Jim fought the urge to react when he saw the Numenorean retrieve a black colored pistol which he slipped into a holster inside his coat. This was followed by what looked to him like two short swords which also disappeared beneath the long garment. After this another smaller knife disappeared into Estel’s boot, and a second into his belt. Jim quickly glanced over at Sam who was having much more trouble hiding his reactions as his eyes went wide. Within the span of two minutes, the duffel bag was zipped back up and slung over Estel’s shoulder. What more might lay in it was left to Jim’s and Sam’s fertile and somewhat fearful imagination. Much to their credit however, they said nothing around the other people milling about the lockers.

Once they were out of earshot of the others, Sam asked him in a whisper, “Just what do you plan on doing with those?”

“With luck, nothing.” The Numenorean responded, though his tone said he didn’t believe luck was with them that day as he continued to keep his eyes moving. “But I’d rather not have to trust Lady Luck’s assistance too much. As it is, I think she’s just about run out of patience with us today.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

Estel said nothing but gestured with his chin back towards the platform. Sam looked in the same direction and saw five or six men standing in between them and where they had needed to be within the hour. All of them wore short cropped blond hair and were obviously well muscled. All wore jackets of various types with conspicuous bulges beneath them as well which the store clerk could guess weren’t their spare reading glasses. One of them was the shadow which Estel had pointed out from the Korean restaurant in London. They were doing a poor job of pretending to not have eyes on the three traveling companions.

“Now what, Mr. en Aran?” Sam asked.

“Now we go to plan ‘B’.” He replied, turning for the exit into the parking garages beneath the station instead. “Come with me.”

“But what about the train?” Jim asked as he began to move with him and Sam.

“There are other roads to where we are going. Some of them more direct than the train.” Estel replied as he moved quickly. “The trains were the most public and thus the safest, but it seems like our shadows no longer care about making themselves known.”

Seeing the three turn and head away from the platform, those watching them followed, seeming to forget to hide their intentions any longer as they moved quickly to not to lose them entirely. They muscled their way through the crowd, leaving not a few folks behind hurling profanities at them in a number of European languages.

“But aren’t there CCTV cameras everywhere?” Jim asked. “Won’t they be seen if they try anything?”

“Cameras can be blocked or fooled.” the Numenorean replied as if from experience. “And it won’t matter if the Belgian police see what they do if we’re dead and they have the ring, now will it, Mr. Frudd?”

“Right then.” Jim replied, taking his meaning and swallowing hard.

They reached the parking garage, and Estel moved down the line of cars, appearing to know exactly what he was looking for and where it might be parked.

“Did you leave a car down here?” Sam asked, his voice beginning to rise.

“Not me personally, no, but my kinsmen for situations like this.” The Numenorean said, his eyes scanning the rear windows and bumpers looking for something.

“Your folk do this kind of thing often?” Sam asked with more than a bit of disbelieving sarcasm.

“More than we’d like, unfortunately.” He responded in earnest, strangely unbuttoning his fog coat to let it hang open loosely when he had always been so careful about keeping it closed. “My family has always seemed to have a knack for having trouble hunt us wherever we go. We learned long ago to prepare for it, and turn the hunt back on the hunters.”

“I wouldn’t think about going anywhere if I was you.” A man with a Russian accent called out in English from across the otherwise empty garage.

The three turned to look in the direction of the voice to see six armed men cocking pistols and fixing silencers. Sam’s and Jim’s eyes both went wide as their hands instinctively raised into the air. Estel’s hands however were still carefully at his sides in a calculated manner as he appeared to be watching them intently.

“And why might that be, friend?” The Numenorean replied, dropping the duffel bag to the cement.

“All we want is the ring.” Another man with a heavy French accent said, his gun trained on Estel’s head from a distance from which it would be difficult to miss. “We don’t care about any of you after that.”

“Well, if its a ring you want, I suppose I could part with my father’s ring, but it’s been in the family for an awfully long time and I’d hate to lose it.” Estel replied cheekily. “It’s quite the heirloom.”

“Shut up! You know which ring we want, idiot!” Their shadow yelled back. “The ring you took from the Yorkshire police. Give it to us now, or you all die right here.”

The armed neo-nazis closed in on them to where Jim could see their eyes quite clearly. All of them had blue eyes to go with their blond hair. Many of them had scars on their faces from events that the bookshop owner could only guess at. None of them appeared to have any qualms about just shooting them and taking what they wanted.

“Oh, that ring!” Estel replied. “They didn’t have it! It was gone from their evidence lock up before I arrived.”

“Liar! Then why the sudden travel plans, hmm?” The Russian man asked.

“Can’t a man return home from holiday without an interrogation?” The Numenorean replied again.

The whole scene was terrifying to Jim and his whole life flashed before his eyes several times. It was made even more so by Estel’s brazen replies. _Does he want to get us killed?_ Jim wondered. _Doesn’t he realize they mean to kill us no matter what?_ Jim was no great action hero, but even he could read their body language perfectly.

“Enough!” The Russian man shouted, marching up to Estel and pointing his own weapon directly at his head. “This is for my brother!”

The next thing Jim heard were silenced gunshots. He expected them to hurt more than they did but he felt nothing as his hands went instinctively to his body. It took a moment for him to open his eyes and realize that he hadn’t been hit at all, but the sight in front of him was nothing short of amazing.

Three of the gunmen were lying unmoving on the floor when Estel had used the distraction to pull his own weapon from his coat and dispatched one more before their Russian shadow had knocked it out of his hands and they were engaged in a display of martial arts like nothing he had ever seen. The sixth neo-nazi found himself fighting hand to hand with another man whom Jim hadn’t known was there. The other man, whose features closely resembled Estel’s, was armed with long curved knives with which he used to a brilliant and devastating effect, his hands moving quicker than Jim’s senses could register. It was like watching a fast moving ballet as ghastly red splotches appeared all over their attacker’s body until one appeared at his throat within seconds. When that one had dropped, the new stranger watched the fight between their bodyguard and the Russian man with an almost casual interest, and then, cleaning his knives on the clothes of one of the dead men, he sheathed them and moved over to a silver BMW, motioning for Jim and Sam to do the same. Producing a key from somewhere under the rear bumper, he unlocked the doors and ushered the two Englishmen inside.

“Hurry it up, cousin! You will have maybe five minutes before the police arrive!” The stranger called out before getting into the driver’s seat as if Estel was merely dawdling and not engaged in life or death combat.

As if in response, suddenly the short swords the Numenorean had retrieved from the duffel bag appeared in his hands and the whole dynamic of the fight had changed. Seeing this appeared to bring the Russian out of his rage and back to his senses.

“Another time, friend!” The Russian said, then ran for the exits in the opposite direction.

“Another time.” Estel returned to the man’s back. He sheathed his swords, retrieved his pistol, and then sprinted for the car.

“Gondeg, my cousin, it is good to see you.” The Numenorean told him as he arrived and got into the passenger’s seat. “How did you know we would be here?”

“Grandmother sent me after you sent her your message. I’ve been watching the train station since this morning. You know, you’re either slipping or becoming indulgent. You used to dispatch a group twice that size in half the time on your own.” His cousin replied in a disapproving voice, starting the car and backing it out quickly, careful to avoid the bodies on the garage pavement. Softening his tone a little he then added, “It’s good to see you too.”

“Call it old age. I’m not as young as I used to be.” Estel replied, almost flippantly.

“That’s no excuse. I’m almost as old as you are.” Their driver retorted. “I see you brought new friends.” Gondeg then observed. “Are they coming home with us too?”

“Yes. Gondeg, this is James Frudd and Samuel Ogden. Jim, Sam, this is Gondeg en Aran, my kinsman.” Estel told them. “Don’t be afraid. You’re as safe with him as you are with me.”

This last part did nothing to reassure the two Englishmen.

“ _Mae g’ovannen_!” Gondeg told them cheerily while keeping his attention focused on driving.

Jim’s mind was reeling with trying to process everything which had just happened to them. After what felt like an eternity to him, he asked, “Where are you taking us?”

“We’re going to our grandmother’s estate of Cerin Amroth, just south of Dresden on the German side of the border.” Estel told them, his willingness to share information now obviously freer that no one else could hear them that wasn’t in the car as it began speeding down the European highway. “Feel free to get some sleep. We should be there in about seven or eight hours.”

“Cerin Amroth?” Jim asked, recognizing the name from Tolkien’s appendices.

“Yes. To grandmother’s house we go!” Gondeg remarked like a man who had not just butchered four men in their presence single handedly.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Eight thousand years ago...

The ground around the raven haired elf woman’s home in the trees on the hill of Cerin Amroth shook violently and threatened to bring everything crashing to the ground. Delicately carved dishes and finely wrought implements from her son’s kingdom to the south dropped and smashed against the hard living wood of the floors. She had felt it when Mt. Doom exploded and shook the land. This was far worse, like no cataclysm she had ever witnessed in her almost three millennia of existence.

She was one of the last of her people to remain in Middle Earth. She knew of perhaps a handful of others who still resisted the call westward to Eldamar. Her late husband’s friend and companion Legolas Greenleaf had not yet made the crossing, and there were some who, like herself, still felt they had unfinished business in the mortal realms. There were ties of blood and kin, children to advise and counsel.

She had realized this after, in her grief, returning to her grandmother’s home only to join her beloved in death. For a long while she felt as if she could not live knowing he slept the sleep of death, and had very nearly succumbed. And then her son had come seeking her counsel and wisdom on a matter of ruling. There had been a dispute between two nobles. There had also been the matter of what to do about reclaiming the transformed landscape of Mordor, and how best to support the new settlers in that place while extinguishing the last of the hated orcs. There was work to do, and her kingly son had needed her. He had been so like his father, capable, commanding, a leader of men, yet unsure of himself and frequently second guessing himself like his father for fear of making the mistakes of his ancestors. She came to realize that her beloved husband had not truly died, but lived on in their son and daughters, and would live on in their children as well.

But she did not leave Cerin Amroth. They came to her at first, and then eventually her son Eldarion brought her the palantir which had been recovered from Minas Morgul and they were able to communicate through those. Over time, her children, grandchildren, and then their children as well came to stay with her on and off as a refuge at times from the pressures of governing the reunited kingdoms. Her home in the trees had been enlarged, and some structures of stone and wood were erected on the grounds around the hill. Gardens had been planted. A little over a century after her arrival, Cerin Amroth might have rivaled her father’s house at Imladris on some small scale for the comfort and refuge it provided her family.

But no one outside of her kin knew of its continued existence. She was insistent on this point with Eldarion. The world must not know such a refuge for the Eldar or the Numenoreans remained. Their time in Middle Earth was over. Her father was right on that point, and she would not fight it. The Fourth Age would be an age dominated by Man, not Elf. But there was also a more practical and necessary reason as she raised her left hand, and a mithril ring shaped like a flower and inset with a flawless adamant crystal began to shine with the remnants of the power it once held.

“ _A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon si di’ nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!_ ” she cried out for help in her native tongue as the trembling persisted and grew worse to the queen of the Valar, Manwe’s consort, to hear her in her hour of need. _O Queen of the Stars, Kindler of the Stars, far watching from heaven, I cry unto you under the horror of death! O watch over me, Ever-white Veil!_

Her words reverberated through the air around her with a force amplified by the power of the ring which Celebrimbor had forged so many centuries before. That ring, _Nenya_ , which had first been born by her grandmother was the other reason it was absolutely necessary the royal histories declare her to have died. She had told her son to let it be known all three of the elven rings of power had diminished and disappeared into the west after the destruction of Sauron’s ring. It was not entirely true, but it was necessary. They had diminished, but her own grandmother, the Lady Galadriel, had observed disturbingly that they had not faded entirely. She had confided in her granddaughter a grave secret she had held since the fall of Minas Ithil, and before departing with their beloved Gandalf, Frodo, and Bilbo Baggins for the undying lands. A second ring of domination had been misguidedly forged, and was now held by her agent who had left her service and disappeared from her sight. To that end she had entrusted _Nenya_ to her in secret as a ward against what new evil Celebrimbor’s phantasm might have unleashed because of it.

The power of the ring, called upon by the plea to the Queen of the Stars, pushed outwards as a shield further and further, encapsulating and isolating first her house, and then farther out to the perimeter of dozens, if not hundreds of acres around the hill of Cerin Amroth. All within the shield of power became calm and still, and a peace settled across the earth and trees within it, while outside it all was chaos as mountains were leveled and changed, the great river Anduin reversed its course to flow northwards, and the landscape of Middle Earth changed to something she neither knew nor recognized. Her heart ached for all those people outside her protected land, and tears formed in her eyes at the thought of them. But Nenya had no such power to protect all of them. It had no such power any longer even to maintain the protection of the whole of Lothlorien as it once had, but there was strength enough for her home and grounds.

She repeated her cry over and over again, drawing on the power of the Elvish ring, and pleading for mercy from the oldest powers and servants of Eru Iluvatar during what seemed like the end of days around her. Time, never the same to her as to any of the younger race of Man, seemed to stand still altogether for what felt like, even to her, an eternity until she could cry out no longer, and her strength failed her.

The next thing she knew was opening her eyes, and waking as if from a nightmare on the floor of her home. She slowly picked herself up off the floor, shaking dust from her grey elven dress. With what had occurred, she might have expected some cut or scrape, but she bore no injury of any kind. The tree in which her home had been built still stood, and while there were trinkets and vessels smashed on the floor, her home remained. As she went to the windows and rails of her abode, the same was true of the ground based structures and houses which had been constructed for her children’s use. All around the hill of Cerin Amroth was whole and otherwise untouched. Elbereth Gilthoniel had not abandoned her after all.

It was then she felt the touch on her mind of the palantir. She went immediately to where it was kept in her home and touched the clear crystal orb. Immediately she felt the panic and fear of her grandson, Eldarion the Second, King of Arnor and Gondor.

_Grandmother! Praise to the Valar, you live!_ His voice rang out to her through the orb. _Arnor has suffered a catastrophic deluge and is destroyed! Gondor is no more what it was. The White City is all in rubble. Those very few of us who have survived are scattered!_

In that moment, overjoyed at the voice of her grandson, and terrified for the future of her children’s children she reacted as only a mother or grandmother could or would. _Bring what remains of our family to me. Cerin Amroth still stands. There is shelter and safety for us here._

_And the kingdom of my fathers? What is to become of it?_ Her grandson asked, of course worried for his ancestors’ legacy just as her husband had.

_Numenor’s time is spent in Middle Earth just as the time of the Eldar. The world of Men must go on without us._ She replied. _Come to me here. You and all your kinsmen. There is room enough for all._

There was a silence in the communication for some time before she received a reply, saddened and grieving for all that had been lost, _Yes, grandmother. We will come home._

The world may have fallen, but Arwen Undomiel would not lose her family or what remained of her beloved Aragorn son of Arathorn, her beloved Estel, that day. Hope would remain for them all.

* * *

Present day…

The silver BMW had been on the road all night, passing from Belgian highways onto German ones fairly swiftly and continuing onwards. Always the two Numenoreans who took turns driving kept careful eyes on who might be behind them as much as the road ahead. They stopped only for fuel and some small supper which consisted of American style fast food and coffee quickly obtained from a McDonald’s in Liege before passing into Germany. Jim did not know which had unsettled his stomach more, the Korean kimchee or the Big Mac and so called “French Fries.”

Estel’s cousin Gondeg was a pleasant enough fellow who, in the confines of the automobile, had no compunctions about regaling the two Englishmen with his family’s colorful and unbelievable history. Jim learned more about their host and bodyguard in those first few hours of driving than he had in the previous twenty four, though he was certain the seemingly younger man was embellishing it.

Gondeg was Estel’s cousin, though the familial relationships became unclear by orders of generations and centuries. He too was a descendant of the kings of Numenor, but was removed from Estel by at least one generation if not two. Nevertheless, he himself claimed to be ninety four years old and had been raised like a little brother alongside the elder Numenorean. Both men had not only seen and fought in the second world war, but several smaller conflicts around Europe including the troubles in the former Yugoslavia. At one point, Estel and he had served in the French Foreign legion in Africa even before withdrawing themselves to watch the ever developing hostilities between the NATO powers and the Warsaw Pact in what had been called the Cold War. Their ancestral home had been located right on the “front lines” of that conflict much as it had during the war between the Allied and Axis powers. Their most recent exploits had been in Afghanistan the decade before and Syria within the past five years, embedding themselves as “private contractors” against the Taliban first and later the so-called Islamic State fearing that their leaders might have somehow obtained the very ring they had been pursuing. Wherever tyrants or chaos had risen, it seemed, the Numenoreans soon made their presence felt if not seen in the attempt to subdue it.

Next to him, Sam seemed equal parts enthralled by Gondeg’s tales and skeptical. It was like listening to the exploits of one of the elderly veterans one might find in a nursing home who happened to be on the beach at Normandy or Dunkirk, except the storyteller appeared no older than he himself was. There were times Estel would interject, asserting that no such event ever happened. This was usually when Gondeg would remark on something particularly embarrassing to the elder cousin, such as a certain rendezvous with a French maiden in the nineteen forties having gone all awry.

After so long, regardless of the strong coffee, both Jim and Sam passed out in the back seat of the vehicle while Estel had been behind the wheel. The last thing Jim remembered before dreaming was hearing both driver and front seat passenger conversing fluently and familiarly as if in their native tongue in a language which was both foreign and somehow familiar to him. It sounded similar to Welsh, but like no Welsh he had ever heard before.

After that, he remembered nothing of the rest of the drive, and only barely being woken and walked to a small cottage under the starlight where he and Same had been shown beds and told to get as much rest as they needed. But that must have been a dream, because in it he could have sworn they had been greeted warmly by a seemingly young raven haired Lady with ears that terminated in points whose beauty was rivaled by none, and who moved with a soft, silvery luminescence in the night’s darkness as though the light of the stars radiated from her very presence. One of those stars seemed to shine directly from a diamond and white metal ring on her left hand, Jim’s exhausted mind had registered but failed to process the significance of.

It was mid morning when both Jim and Sam opened their eyes once more, and precious daylight streamed through the window of the bedroom of the homely cottage they found themselves in. Sam had awoken first, stretching and yawning as though in his own bed forgetting for the moment the events of the day before as if it had all been just a strange dream. It took a few minutes to realize he was not in his own bed, and was still wearing the clothes he had traveled in the day before minus his shoes, socks, and jacket. It was the smell of clean linens and quilt as though he was in a hotel room which had first alerted him and sent his eyes wide and adrenaline flowing. Being a confirmed bachelor for the moment, he frequently forgot to wash his own bed linens and simply had become used to the odor where he no longer noticed it.

“Jim!” he called out in alert to his friend who lay in a similar twin bed on the opposite side of the room. “Jim, are you awake?”

“Ugh. I am now, Sam.” Jim Frudd replied, putting his hand to his forehead and yawning fiercely. “What time is it?” he asked him.

Sam looked at his wristwatch before answering. “It’s half past eight, but that’s… I thought it was all a dream!”

“What dream? What are you talking about? And why are you in my house this early?” Jim asked, his eyes still not having opened.

“Open your eyes Jim Frudd, and see where we are!” Sam replied as he sat up and put his feet over the side of the bed.

“What? What are you talking about?” Jim asked, his mind still fuzzy as he opened his eyes to a bedroom not his own. Then those eyes went as wide as Sam’s did as the bookshop owner sat up straight and all the events of the previous day came back to him like being hit with a cricket bat.

“My God. It wasn’t some surreal Tolkien based nightmare, was it?” Jim asked as he surveyed their new surroundings.

The bedroom was sparsely furnished but comfortable. It looked as though it had been vacant for a long time. Beside the two twin beds were two wardrobes, a chair, and a long looking glass attached to the wall. Nightstands with artistically carved nature scenes stood next to both beds as well as antique style electric lamps which had been switched off. The room has the odor of age and old wood, but it was not an unpleasant smell. A clear glass window was set in the wall between the two beds, and wooden shutters had been opened and drawn back to allow the morning light to fill the space.

“No, I suppose not.” Sam replied, trying to adjust as the memories of the day before continued to process. “It all really happened, and we’re really in… in…”

“Cerin Amroth.” Jim finished for him. “Though this room looks more twentieth century German than ancient Elvish, I must say.”

“Do you remember anything about how we got here? I mean after the car and the highway?” Sam asked him. “It’s all a bit fuzzy to me, just bits and pieces.”

“To me as well. I remember… there was a woman…” Jim tried to recall.

“Yeah. She sort of, I don’t know, had this soft _glow_ around her.” Sam agreed. “And it was like looking and the purest, loveliest face I ever did see. I ain’t seen no woman like her before in my life, not on the tele, not in the movies, not ever. It was like seeing what the old myths said about Venus or Aphrodite. I’d thought she’d had to have been a dream.”

Remembering then the cause of all of their trouble, Jim suddenly shoved his left hand into its corresponding pants pocket to feel the hard metal loop which was still secured therein. Both relieved and disturbed at its presence, he removed his hand contemplatively.

“It’s still there?” Sam asked.

“Yes. It’s still in my pocket.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and a casually dressed Estel entered cautiously. “Oh, good. I see you’re both awake. That is perfectly timed as breakfast is almost ready. I promise a better meal than that American swill we had to sup on last night.”

The sight of Estel’s changed clothes and much relaxed disposition was something of a shock to the two Englishmen. Gone was his long fog coat and boots. In their place were earth tone darker green trousers, leather belt, and a long sleeve pullover shirt with the top buttons undone exposing no little amount of fur from his chest. His feet were bare and exposed on the worn wood of the floors. His arms ad hands were also completely bare, exposing the shaped athletic muscle in both as well as an intricately wrought silver ring on his left hand inset with an emerald and what looked like twin serpents around it wearing twin gold crowns. His face had been recently shaved exposing more scars around his chin and cheeks that had not previously been visible. There was a rugged handsomeness to it which made both Jim and Sam feel just a little self conscious about their own appearance. It was then that Jim also realized that he couldn’t quite place Estel’s ethnicity. He was neither what one would think of as strictly German, nor French, nor English. There was something of the Italian or Greek in his features, but something more as well which he couldn’t quite define in the structure of the cheekbones and shape of the face. His complexion was lighter than either though as from the northern countries.

“Where are we?” Sam asked.

“My father’s cottage on my grandmother’s land. Several were built for my kinsmen over the centuries, though most of them now stand empty like this one had for several years. This was mine and my brother’s room when we were children. I have use of the master bedroom.” Estel replied. “We arrived last night just after three in the morning. I’m surprised you woke as early as you did.”

“So this is your house then?” Sam clarified.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Estel replied thoughtfully, as though he had never thought of it that way before.

“We’re at Cerin Amroth.” Jim said. It was a statement more than a question. “That was where you were taking us.”

“Yes.” Estel replied. “My house is yours for as long as you require it. Come to the kitchen when you’re ready. After breakfast, my grandmother has requested to speak with you in the chapel, Mr. Frudd.”

“Just me?” Jim asked, looking at Sam.

“Just you.” Estel replied, then added, “I promise, no evil can touch you within our land. You will be perfectly safe within our small borders.”

* * *

After breakfast, Estel took Jim to the chapel of which he spoke which happened to be a good walk from the cottage he had awoken in. Sam came along for the walk and to see their new surroundings as well. The property was heavily wooded with trees which appeared to be ancient everywhere one looked. The tallest tree was situated on a hill which lie at the very center of the property. Sam couldn’t be certain, but he could have sworn he saw some kind of a porch or a deck up in the largest, and most ancient tree on the hill with a set of steps which seemed to have been grown rather than cut around its trunk.

Around the hill and under and in between the trees were what appeared to be several small villages of cottages, storage buildings, gardens, and workshops all connected by cobblestone walkways. The cottages appeared to have been built and repaired through several phases of European history, the most modern of which appeared to be Estel’s own red brick house from somewhere at the beginning of the twentieth century. There looked to be enough housing for at least a hundred families, though the vast majority of those cottages appeared to be vacant. The fragrant scent of the trees was everywhere as though they were walking through a virgin forest, and there was a peace which lay everywhere and eased their hearts immensely.

“How many live here?” Sam asked. “People like you, I mean.”

“Not as many as there once were.” Estel replied, a sadness to his voice. “When I was a boy, there were children playing along these walkways, and many of my kinsmen coming and going. Now, there are but a few dozen of us at most. Besides those few who chose to leave here and marry outside of our clan, the wars of the last century took a terrible toll on my people. I don’t know if we’ll ever recover from it.”

Sam couldn’t imagine it, but he felt for the man who led them through the home the Englishman realized no “regular” man had ever set foot in before now. The weight of the privilege of seeing what his eyes were seeing now was not lost on the store clerk from Goole.

“It’s beautiful, and peaceful here. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to leave.” Jim remarked, observing the scenes he was being shown. “If this had been my family’s estate, I shouldn’t have left for neither love nor money.”

Estel smiled at that, but it was a smile pregnant with many memories which he just then was not inclined to share. “Come, the chapel is this way.”

“What sort of chapel is it?” Sam asked. “Are your folk religious then?”

“My ancestors, from as far back as the memory of Man can go, had long held the hope of the Edain that Eru Himself would be born as a man to redeem our race even before the missionaries had come from Rome and Greece to confirm to us that it had come to pass. My grandmother has been devoted to His worship ever since.” Estel told them.

It took several moments for either of the Englishmen to process the implications of what Estel had just revealed to them as they approached the small, obviously ancient but well kept grey stone chapel. Stained glass windows could be seen all along the sides of the structure, and a golden cross adorned the archway of the heavy wooden doors which stood open, revealing the multicolored light from the sun augmented by candles coming from inside. The fragrance of sacred incense wafted from within.

“This is where Sam and I must leave you, Mr. Frudd. My grandmother is expecting you.” The Numenorean told him with a slight but sincere bow of his head.

Jim expected to feel some trepidation at being left alone, but he didn’t. There was nothing about the Numenorean’s disposition which felt threatening or nefarious at all. As Frodo himself remarked in both book and cinematic rendition, Jim thought any “servant of the enemy” as it were would look fairer, and feel fouler. The truth was, there was and had always been a nobility about Estel which Jim had rarely encountered or seen, even in those of high or noble birth in his native England. This only increased when seeing the man in his own natural home. He returned the man’s slight bow with a nod and entered the dimly lit chapel.

Upon crossing the threshold of the entry, he immediately felt a sense of… he wasn’t entirely sure. Like most Englishmen, he was a baptized member of the Church of England, but also like most he hadn’t set foot in a church since that day except for the occasional Easter and Christmas, and certainly not for regular Sunday services. Those he had entered had generally felt more like grand museums rather than true places of worship, and their clergy the curators more than pastors. He had not anticipated the feel he received just then. For the first time in his life he felt as though he were entering a space that was _holy_ , _sacred_ , a place which was regularly used for communion with the divine in every sense of the word. It was both frightening and comforting at the same time.

He proceeded further into the structure, past the narthex where a small dish filled with clear, clean water waited. Without knowing why, some instinct within him dipped his fingers in it and made the sign of the cross across his forehead and chest before proceeding. It was something he had only done once or twice himself before when he was very young. Why it came back to him just then he did not know.

He passed through the narthex and entered the sanctuary of the ancient church. The multicolored morning light from the stained glass filled the chapel and changed it into something from another world entirely. Candles on brass stands had been lit around the perimeter. Depictions of Christ’s passion could be found all along the walls in the stations of the cross, along with Eastern icons of Christian saints, as well as statuary in alcoves. In front of him there were three or four rows of wooden pews, maybe enough seating for a hundred people. At the head of the church, raised up above on a palance was the altar. It too was made of stone, but appeared to be intricately carved from a single block of pure white marble. Unlit altar candles in polished brass stands flanked it to either side. Behind the altar was a large, life size crucifix carved from a polished red wood, the corpus dressed with linen cloths where appropriate. It was all what one might expect from an old European Catholic church except something seemed out of place. He couldn’t put his finger on it until he looked at the icons again, and around the sanctuary.

All of the lettering, all of the inscriptions were written in either Tolkien’s Tengwar or Angarthas runes, the writing system used to write the Elvish languages. But these works in the chapel, the icons, the writing on the stained glass, and the engraved inscription on the front of the altar, all of it had to be _hundreds_ if not _thousands_ of years old. But that wasn’t possible if Tolkien had truly been the originator of that writing and those languages.

Kneeling in front of the altar was the figure of a woman in a gray dress, her head covered by a cowl. He then heard the woman’s voice, lilting and sweet to hear, but it was not the voice of a crone, or a woman who was centuries, or even many decades old. It sounded the voice of a woman in her prime, or even younger than himself. He could have listened to it forever, even as it drifted to his ears in prayer with a language he did not understand but felt familiar. It was neither Latin, nor Greek, nor Russian, nor any high church language he knew of.

“ _Ae Adar nin i vi Menel, no aer i eneth lin. Tolo i arnad lin; caro den i innas lin bo Geven sui vi Menel. Anno ammen sir imbas ilaurui vin ar diheno ammen i ugerth vin sui min i gohenam di ai gerir ugerth ammen.”_ Her mesmerizing voice spoke sweetly and reverently.

Jim had no desire whatsoever to interrupt the devout woman who remained at prayer. Instead, as she continued, he chose to take a seat on one of the wooden pews and wait until she finished with her devotions. After several more minutes of hearing the exotic and beautiful language which filled the sanctuary so reverently from her lips, the prayers ceased, and the woman rose to her feet and bowed before the altar.

“Are you a religious man, Mr. Frudd?” The woman asked him in English, clearly aware of his presence. Her fluent speech held the same foreign accent which Estel’s did, though perhaps heavier.

Jim then stood up from where he had sat, fiddling with his hands as he did. When the woman stood, he realized that she was at least as tall as he was, and maybe several inches more. Her regal bearing was easily seen even from behind her concealing cloak and dress. He felt intimidated just then, even as he felt at peace in the sanctuary.

“I can’t say that I am, Lady.” He answered. He didn’t know why he addressed her as “Lady” either, but it felt proper. “I was baptized as a child, but I can’t say I’ve been much of a believer in God.”

“Religion was very different for us, among my family and people.” She told him. “We had no churches or temples, not like the Edain. We took Iluvatar’s existence as a given, and those he placed in charge over the world were as well known to us as our own kin. Doubt in these things was a foreign concept to my people. We either obeyed the will of Eru, or we did not, and suffered the consequences.”

A strange feeling crept over Jim at her words. To what people was she referring? He knew of no nations, no cultures in Europe that had neither temple nor church. He knew the words _Eru_ and _Iluvatar_ though from Tolkien’s works. They were the names of God in the Elvish tongues.

She then withdrew her cowl to reveal long, silken raven black hair underneath tied up into more manageable braids with silvered clasps, and Jim’s heart nearly stopped at the sight even with her back turned to him. To either side of her head was a delicately shaped ear which ended in a tapered point.

“My God.” He said without thought at the sight, losing himself for a moment and falling back into the seat of his pew.

She then turned around to face him, and it was the woman from what he thought had been a dream. She could have been no older than her late twenties. Her eyes were sea green set into perfect pearlescent orbs. Her cheekbones were set high, and her skin was pale as the moon, and seemed to glimmer with a silvery light of its own. She was the most perfect, most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and a name from Tolkien’s works thrust itself into his mind against his will as it was impossible, even within the scope of the great author’s lore that it should be she.

The woman smiled, apparently unfazed by the Englishman’s reaction, perhaps even used to it once upon a time. She approached where he sat and extended her hand in greeting. “ _Mae l’ ovannen_. Welcome to my home, Mr. Frudd. I am called…”

“Arwen. Arwen Evenstar.” He finished for her oblivious to his unintentional rudeness.

“Yes. So I was named once upon a time.” She affirmed for him.

“You’re Estel’s grandmother?” Jim asked, shock clearly etched on his face.

“He among many have called me grandmother, yes, though it is from many, many generations.” She answered patiently. “I have lived here in what remains of my grandmother’s realm for many thousands of years.”

“The Lady Galadriel.” Jim managed to say, trying to process everything.

“Yes. You know of her, and of me. I presume you then are acquainted with the translations Mr. Tolkien published as fantasy?” She inquired. “It will make what I have to say easier to understand.”

“Yes.” he answered. “Yes, I am. I mean, I’ve read all of it, though not for some time. I play a game on the internet as well…” He began to stammer, not sure of what he was saying by that point. He then blurted out, “But how? Tolkien wrote of your death after the passing of King Elessar!”

“Mr. Tolkien was a gifted linguist and translator.” She answered. “But he could only translate what was in front of him, and made some imaginative guesses as to what was not. He believed what I wanted the world of men to believe, and no more. Do you have any further objections to my continued existence?”

“No, Lady Arwen.” Jim replied meekly.

“That will suffice then.” She told him with a smile. She then asked, “May I see it?”

“What?” he asked, confused for a moment before realizing to what she was referring. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

Jim dug into his pocket and retrieved the silver ring, engraved with the Tengwar writing inside and out. He held it out to her in his open hand, palm upwards.

She did not move to take it, but studied it with eyes that appeared far too mature for her apparent age. Those eyes were filled with both a curiosity and concern. Then she reached out her own hand and held it with fingers outstretched above the ring which still lay suspended on the man’s hand. She closed her eyes and intoned words in the same language which Jim now was certain was Sindarin, the language of the Grey Elves as they were called.

She remained like that for over a minute until she opened her eyes once more. They were full of thought and contemplation as she motioned for him to return it to his pocket for the moment.

“My grandmother was correct.” she pronounced. “This ring was made perfect, without the corruption of the dark lord’s essence. I feel instead it is connected with another, binding that poor soul here to the mortal realm still instead of letting him move on to the halls of Mandos. It was not his intention, but it has happened nonetheless. Celebrimbor was the finest smith of the second age, and this ring is clearly his work and no other’s. The same as its brother ring which now sits upon my own hand.”

She held up her left hand to show Jim the intricate ancient ring which rested there.

“But it has been worn by many who were themselves corrupted and corrupting. I am certain Estel explained this to you.” She said, withdrawing her hand. “It has absorbed much malice, pride, and violence from those evil men. You know of the last man who bore it?”

“I do, Lady Arwen.” Jim replied. “Millions died.”

“They did.” She replied in agreement, her own eyes haunted at the memories of the event which transpired around her protected enclave about which she could do nothing but send out her children’s children in the hope of stopping it somehow.

“You understand then why the ring must be destroyed like its predecessor?” she asked. “And you must be the one to see to it.”

“Me?” Jim asked, a panic rising within him. “I’m… I’m a nobody! I don’t do this sort of thing! I run a book shop and play online games. Those are the only adventures I ever have, Lady Arwen. Why must it be me?” He protested.

“It must be you because you are to whom the ring came. It chose you as if Celebrimbor himself pleading with you to end it.” The elf woman replied.

“But why did it choose me?” Jim asked, bewildered at the very thought.

“Perhaps because you are so like another from the Shire I knew long ago. You have a strength within you that you do not know, and others underestimate. So many others are tempted with power, yet you want none of it but your book shop, your games, and the company of the friend who came with you. Those who shun power are something that the darkness has never understood, and still does not.” She replied.

Jim considered her words carefully. “What must I do then? How do I destroy it?” He asked, finding a will within him that he didn’t know was there. “Mt. Doom was destroyed, and as Estel discussed with us, we’d be hard pressed to find an active volcano that wouldn’t threaten a populated area anywhere in Europe, much less the rest of the world. That’s assuming any other active volcano would do.”

“All true points,” she agreed, “and ones we have wrestled with for centuries.” She turned away from him and began to move back towards the altar, her hands clasped together in front of her. She stood in front of the altar and looked up at the corpus on the crucifix reverently. “But faith tells me there is a way to end the madness once and for all, and free Celebrimbor’s spirit from its purgatory. There is no way to destroy it here where it was created, this is true. But perhaps the answer no longer lies within Middle Earth.”

“Where then?” Jim asked. “Where do we need to take it?”

“There was a time before the destruction of Numenor that the Valar and my people made their home in the west in the land of Aman. That was until Eru removed the true Aman and its lands from the world. All that remains now on Arda is a shadow of what was the undying lands in what your people call the Americas. If the answers do not lie here, then perhaps they may lie there.” She explained as she turned to face him once again.

He considered this. Of course it made perfect sense when thought about rationally that if Middle Earth was Europe then Aman and its lands of Valinor and Eldamar would have originally been in the western hemisphere. But still, that such a thing could literally be true took no small amount of suspension of disbelief.

“There is another reason for which the ring must needs be destroyed. And it is one which I have tried hard not to think on these many millennia.” she told him.

“And that is?” Jim asked.

“If Nenya still retains power because of the continued existence of Celebrimbor’s ring, then so possibly do the other rings of power which were forged. I’m sure you’re aware of the nature of those ring bearers as well.” She intoned, her timbre of voice ominous. “I have often suspected there to be a darker hand behind the brotherhood which my children have been fighting against. Much weakened from the third age, but still present.”

Jim had no need for her to clarify what she meant. “The nazgul.” he said what name they were both thinking.

She nodded in confirmation. “It cannot fall into their hands should they still exist in some form.”

“I understand, Lady Arwen.” He said, the very thought sobering him completely.

“Good. I intend to return to my prayers now, Mr. Frudd. My property is your home for as long as you need it to be. Use whatever resources that are at my family’s disposal that you may require. This task has been entrusted to you. Our whole world, and one lost soul in particular, are depending on you to see it through.” She told him. “May Eru and His true light shine on you and light your path ahead.” She then intoned in a blessing, stretching out her hand towards him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Poenari Citadel, Romania, three days later…

It was the dead of night when Dimitry had to park the older model Audi Q3 he had “acquired” to make his exit from Brussels at an empty campsite, and hike the trail up the hill through the forested landscape. He had been following GPS coordinates which had been sent to his phone by the superiors of the brotherhood for the last twenty hours of driving and it had taken him through four countries as it was.

At first, he had no idea to where they were leading him. He had never before met those who had truly issued his orders, only intermediaries and handlers. They had always found him. After his departure from Brussels, he hadn’t expected to this time either when he sent them the message about the failure in the parking garage and the second fighter who dispatched four of his men without breaking a sweat. But his only response to the text message had been _Come to us._ _45.3536N 24.6351E_. There was such an ominous feel about the message that he had second thoughts about complying, but his rage at the tall man for the death of his brother, and his need to know what wasn’t being told him about the Fuhrer’s ring and the men now in possession of it won out.

He had fought with the toughest and best mercenaries in the world, yet he had never seen skills like those two men deployed in his life; except perhaps in fictional American cinema. When the tall man who hadn’t even been winded from their hand to hand encounter drew the short swords, similar to Japanese kodachi from the brief look he had at them, the Russian mercenary knew it was time to retreat against a superior opponent. It was clear the tall man had been toying with him. Had Dimitry not made his escape, he would have been the sixth corpse on the ground. He had not survived as long as he had by being stupid. He truly had no idea who the tall man, the two English nobodies, or their assassin friend who appeared as if from nowhere were, but he wanted answers and his instincts told him the higher ups had them.

The stars shone brightly above him through the trees in that rural part of the Romanian landscape. It was rare to see them like this with the whole night sky visible. It was one of the few things in which both he and his brother could find pleasure in the hell holes they had usually found themselves operating within. He did not bother with a light from a pocket torch, instead letting his eyes adjust and feeling his way up the path with his feet. Low light and night operations had become a regular working environment for him years ago and was no impediment to the Russian man. All of his senses attuned to it quickly as his hearing could pick up the slightest sound out of place.

The farther up the path he went however, the darker and more shadowy it seemed to be, and the stars themselves seemed less bright and cheerful as though a pall or a fog had settled over the forest he walked through and the ruins which were his destination. It seemed somehow fitting all things considered. That part of Romania, the ruins of the old castle known locally as Cetetea Poenari he had been directed to, they were all part of the modern mythology of horror inspired by Bram Stoker’s writings whether or not the Romanian hero, Vlad Tepes Dracul, was the actual figure behind the fictional vampire. Hence the currently closed tourist center and campground at the base of the hill near the highway.

Over fourteen thousand steps from where he began, he found himself at the closed entry to the ruins. Except the gate which was supposed to have been locked against non-paying tourists had been conspicuously left open as he gave it a gentle push. It creaked as it swung inwards, the chains which were supposed to have secured it rattling slightly giving the whole scene an even more eerie feel than it already did.

Unconsciously, Dimitry withdrew the pistol from his chest holster under his heavy jacket and had it ready in his hand as he proceeded forward into the grey stone ruins of what could rightfully be termed the true “Castle Dracula.”

The loose stone and debris from the forest on the walkway beneath him crunched against his boots as he moved deeper into the ruins. Strangely enough, the darkness around him seemed to be getting thicker or deeper even as the little light there was from the stars did not actually vary. Instead, there felt an almost tangible… the only word he could find to describe it was _hatred_ about the place, and _fear_ as though hundreds of souls were trapped there. Of course he knew it was only his imagination, but still the grip he held on his weapon tightened.

He moved deeper into the ruins to what had been the old keep of the castle. The conical roof originally made of wood had given way a long time ago and no amount of Romanian patriotism had inspired a historical society or tourism bureau to replace or restore them. The entire structure except those chambers deepest within was exposed to the open air. It was then that he noticed the pale, ghostly light, barely discernible and a sickly green in color coming from deeper within the keep’s ruined stone.

Up to that point he had met no one in the vicinity of the old ruins. In truth, he had expected someone. A guard, a look out, just _someone_ living to tip him off that he was in the correct place at the correct time. But there had been no one. And he seriously doubted that such a well know tourist spot would be the actual headquarters of the brotherhood he and his brother had sworn themselves to, the _Ordnung des Rings_ , “The Order of the Ring.” If it was as ancient and powerful as was claimed, he thought it might have been in Rome, Berlin, or Paris perhaps, maybe even Aachen in Germany which had previously been known as Aix-la-Chappele, and the former seat of the Holy Roman Emperor Charlemagne’s first reich as the Germans called it. He might have been a warrior by trade, but that didn’t mean his European history had been neglected in his education.

“Wer ist da?” He asked in German, the main language used by the brotherhood. _Who’s there?_ He raised his weapon instinctively towards the pale green light. “Zeige dich!” _Show yourself_!

“ _Come here, boy.”_ Came the response from within the ruined keep, not in German, but in his native Russian. “ _We have been expecting you._ ”

The voice which spoke was hoarse, and sounded ancient. There was a dark timbre to it as it wheezed the words which only added to the unease which had been growing in his very soul upon arriving. There was a power to it which compelled his obedience and he felt his hands almost forced to lower his pistol as his feet obeyed not his own will, but the orders he was given as he entered the keep.

“What kind of a headquarters is this for the Order of the Ring?” He asked as he came through the door and his feet brought him to a halt. “You couldn’t have picked a more trafficked site.” His defiant words however began to die when he arrived and looked upon those he instinctively knew to be the grandmasters of the order. The final authority on all matters.

There were seven of them standing in a semi circle in the ruined stone chamber as if they had been waiting for him for some time. All of them wore black robes, and their faces were completely hidden beneath heavy cowls as though they were completely invisible. His eyes darted around the room, but he could see no visible source for the pale green light. It was as if he had walked into the presence of Death himself and his fellow reapers if there really were such beings.

“ _Bozhe moi._ ” He uttered upon the sight, a deep and unsettling fear taking a hold of him.

They laughed. A bone chilling laugh as though it were coming from the grave itself, and he thought their laughter would drive him mad right then and there.

“Your god has nothing to do with us.” the one standing in the center told him, gesturing with black gloved hands. “We choose this place to meet because of the power it affords us as a former dwelling of a master of the ring. We can appear and speak freely here without unnecessary complications.”

“Why did you summon me here?” Dimitry managed to ask in his native tongue, his tone of voice however much changed from when he entered from superiority to near terror. “I sent all the information I had gathered. Everything I had. I did everything I was asked.”

“The tall man in the photograph,” another of the ghoulish superiors spoke, “we recognize his lineage. He is from a family line which has long sought to hamper our efforts. They are a plague which has been difficult to extinguish from these lands. He and his kin must be put down for good if we are to succeed.”

“I tried, and lost five good men in the process, not counting my brother and Rickert.” Dimitry told them. “No one fights like this man and the other one did.”

“You were outmatched.” The black robed superior told him, his voice tinged with a mocking laughter.

“I would need twenty men or more to do this job, and it would be messy no matter what. I would be hard pressed to hide it from the local authorities, not to mention the media.” Dimitry told them. “I am not unknown to Interpol as it stands.”

“Tell us, boy,” the one in the center spoke again, ignoring his protestations, “what would you do to avenge your brother’s death upon this man? To what lengths would you go to obtain the power to destroy him?”

A chill crept further up his spine at the question. A weaker man might have fainted by then. A smarter man might have run. But Dimitry considered his superior’s question carefully before responding. His brother had been the only real family he had left. They meant everything to each other. When he lost his brother Ivan, a part of his soul had died that day and left the rest of it sick and hungering for revenge.

“ _Vsye_ , _moi gospodin_.” He responded. “Anything, my lord.”

The black robed superior laughed his unholy cackle once more with a kind of glee. “Even trade your very life, your very soul?”

“ _Da_.” Dimitry responded, not knowing what he meant by that. “Yes _._ What little of it remains to me.”

“ _Otlichnyi.”_ The ghoul responded. _Excellent._

Then the ghoul withdrew a blade from under his robes. It was a long, two handed, double edged sword with an intricately carved crossguard, and a wicked looking pommel. Evil malice and hatred radiated from it like heat from a furnace, and it was all he could do to not panic and scream, but he held himself where he stood.

“Come closer.” The superior told him, and he felt his body moving without any inclination of his own.

Without warning, the ghoul’s hand swiped the blade through the air and slashed Dimitry’s throat with it, severing his jugular veins. The Russian’s eyes opened wide in terror and surprise at the unexpected move and his right hand went to his severed throat, blood streaming from the mortal wound through his fingers. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t react, and he knew he had mere minutes to continue with any kind of conscious thought. His knees buckled and he hit the floor hard from the weakness and loss of blood.

Then he felt the gloved skeletal hand of one of the black robed superiors seize his left hand and remove the leather glove which had covered it. The next thing he felt was something hard and metallic being slipped over his ring finger. The pain and panic suddenly ceased, and he felt a strength returning to his limbs like he had never known before. The blood had ceased to flow from his neck wound as he took his hand away, and the pale, low light of the keep suddenly blew up into perfect clarity in the darkness. He could see everything as though it were broad daylight. And in front of him, the seven black robed superiors had suddenly revealed their white, ghastly faces as though of old men well past their deaths. He looked down at his left hand to see a gold colored ring inset with a stone the color of blood. Strange inscriptions in a language he didn’t recognize had been engraved on the outside of the band.

“What have you done to me?” Dimitry asked, his senses and much more within him overwhelmed with both terror and empowerment by what had just happened.

“Welcome to the _true_ brotherhood of the ring, _moi_ _br_ _at_.” The ghastly superior told him in response. “You will go where we yet cannot. You will be the blade of the _Nazgul_.”

* * *

At Cerin Amroth on the border between Czech and Germany…

Jim Frudd sat in front of a Japanese built, ruggedized laptop belonging to his host in the sitting room of Estel en Aran’s cottage searching the internet. There was something incredibly surreal about having good, modern wireless access to the World Wide Web in that place which had stood for millennia, and was overseen by an elf woman of even greater age. The magnesium alloy and black trim laptop itself he could guess had cost upwards of thousands of euros, was made for the most brutal of environments, and resembled one a fellow might see a spy in a movie using to either set off a nuclear explosive or disarm one.

For the last two days he had been coming to terms with the direction either fate or destiny had taken him. All reasoned protests against the reality of the ring, Estel’s story, and well… all of it had flown out the window at his first sight of the owner of the estate on which he now found himself.

The Lady Arwen Undomiel who stood in front of him and charged him with this seemingly impossible task was flesh and blood and no figment of his imagination. He had even taken meals with her and her currently resident “grandchildren” in her home built high in the ancient tree that stood in the center of the property. It was filled with antiques and relics, most of which appeared priceless, from every age of history and a few even that were from _before_ what he knew as recorded history. Her multi level home wasn’t even so much built as it appeared to be almost _grown_ from the living wood of the tree itself, shaping itself organically to her needs, and nearly completely open air with only solid railings to keep one from tumbling over the side and branches overhead which had tightly woven themselves together to keep out what rain there might be. He had asked during the meal what she did during the winter months to keep out the cold.

She smiled sweetly in reply as though to a child asking why the sky was blue, and said, “There is no winter here at Cerin Amroth, dear one.”

“What about mosquitoes then, or biting flies?” He inquired, unable to process her answer just then.

“We have none of those either. No evil may enter our borders.” She answered once more, her twenty-something countenance taking on a maternal expression which was both comforting as well as out of place.

It was only after that supper that first day that it struck him how pleasant and comfortable the temperature had been on her estate, and it was only mid-March. Before coming there, both in his home country and in their drive across the continent, a warm coat was not optional, but here he had honestly felt no real need of it as though it were a perpetual late spring. And he had neither heard nor seen such insects as would have or should have made a nuisance of themselves there. There had been honeybees flying in and around the gardens for certain, and ants, and a few small spiders which he knew to be harmless to people, but he had seen nothing which he could have classified as harmful or dangerous.

No, his mind had simply given up denying the reality of his present situation as unreal as it should have proven itself. Once that had been achieved, he began to focus on the task which had been given him, but where to even start was itself a herculean challenge.

The Lady Arwen believed that the answer to the ring’s destruction lie, not in the old world, but in the new. In her way of thinking, the Americas in the western hemisphere were all that remained in this world or plane of existence of the realm of Aman wherein Valinor and Eldamar once stood. The true Aman, the true “West” as it were had been taken out of the world by Eru upon the destruction of Numenor, but the landmass itself remained and, like Middle Earth had undergone geological changes since then, so too had what remained of Aman coming to the form of the Northern and Southern American continents that it was in today.

Jim had started by brushing up on everything he knew about Tolkien’s lore, filling in what gaps there were with Estel’s and his grandmother’s assistance. Tolkien’s major work, _The Lord of the Rings_ , focused entirely on Middle Earth and didn’t give much to go on where the undying lands were concerned. For that, he had to turn to the Silmarillion, Tolkien’s “creation myth” and tales of the first age of the world published after his death by his son. Beyond this there were several online repositories of lore, indexed and made searchable by Tolkien fans around the world. He had been studying them for the past two days, taking breaks to eat and process through what he was learning while Sam proved a capable sounding board for him to bounce ideas off.

He had been looking for volcanoes in the Americas as well, but couldn’t find any that were both active and far enough away from population centers that no one would be harmed if they erupted. He was incredulous at what he found. Did no one seriously think living next to such unpredictable mountains was a bad idea?

After a fruitless previous day, he had decided to dig back into Tolkien’s lore feeling that perhaps he had missed something. It was then that he came upon something which he felt might be promising. In the Silmarillion of Middle Earth, it talked about the creation of the universe by Eru, but that also the angelic beings known as the _Ainur_ had a direct hand in shaping the world once it was sung into existence as well. There were fourteen of these angelic or divine beings who governed particular aspects of that creation and had resided in Valinor. One of them in particular stuck out for their present problem: _Aule_ the Valarian smith, and creator of the dwarves.

According to what information was out there, Aule was the original craftsman and inventor of the Valar similar to Hephaestus of the Greeks or Vulcan of the Romans. His very name meant “invention” in Quenya, the elvish tongue even more ancient than his hosts’ native Sindarin, and its forerunner like Latin to French. He dwelt with his consort Yavanna somewhere in the center of Valinor, on the western side of the Pelori mountains of Aman. Also, Sauron, as one of the _maiar_ like Gandalf and Saruman had been, had started as one of Aule’s servants before he defected to Melkor, the Silmarillion’s version of the original Lucifer. It only followed that the Dark Lord had originally learned his ring crafting from his first, and more benevolent master. Jim tried to get more detail than this, but there wasn’t much more to go on. All of the maps which the internet presented had been drawn up through the imagination of fans, and as such would afford him nothing of any accuracy to work with.

But the thought had stuck with him that, if Aule was a smith, then he had to have had a _forge_. The other smithing deities of European mythology all had their forges, so it only made sense that Aule did as well. He could think of no more powerful heat, or containment for it, than the forge of the blacksmith vala. If Sauron’s forge was capable of destroying a ring of power, then Aule’s certainly was!

Except he had no idea where it might have been. Vulcan’s or Hephaestus’ forges were always located around volcanoes, so it was potentially reasonable that Aule’s forge would have been located in or near one as well. This of course brought up the first problem again: how to destroy the ring without threatening a local population.

The whole thing was giving him a headache as he stared the computer screen in front of him. His field of study had been literature and European mythology. He knew almost nothing about the Americas, and had never even been to any part of them. The only civilized part of the western hemisphere to him seemed to be Canada, and as much as he might have wished, it didn’t seem likely that they would find what they’d been looking for in the northernmost country, even if it was a Commonwealth nation. The rest of it seemed to exponentially increase in risk and danger the farther south one traveled.

He checked the clock on the computer’s desktop. It was half past three and he’d been staring at the computer screen for several hours now. Jim missed that the last time he had done that it had, ironically, been raiding Mordor with Sam on their online game from the comfort of their respective computer chairs. That had been just about a week before, and a few days before finding the silver ring on the bank of the Ouse. He never thought he’d be trying to run that quest with his best mate for real.

“I need to take a break from the computer, Sam. I’m going to go for a walk.” He told his friend.

“Want company?” Sam asked.

“I wouldn’t mind it.” Jim replied. “I need to clear my head.” He said.

“That thing around your neck isn’t affecting you, is it, Jim?” Sam asked, referring to the ring which now rested securely on a white gold chain around his neck much like it did on Frodo’s neck in the Peter Jackson films. His tone was light, but there was a serious concern to it nonetheless.

He too had met the elven Lady at supper, and all his doubts had been erased right then and there.

“No, I don’t think so.” He replied honestly. “Even in the books, it took decades of being around Sauron’s ring for either Frodo or Bilbo to get as bad as they did. I’m nowhere close, and this ring isn’t completely like that one. I think it’s just the task itself. I was just thinking about the irony of the last quest we ran together on _LOTRO_. Do you remember?”

“The one through Mordor.” Sam remembered. “Yeah.”

They left the cottage and began to wander around the estate. The buildings and gardens were well kept, but most of the cottages were clearly unoccupied, giving the place an odd feeling. Still, there were a few others in residence out and about. One woman, an attractive lady in a work smock who somewhat resembled her “grandmother” was trimming flowers in a garden. She gave them a smile, and waved in a friendly fashion as they passed by which they both returned rather sheepishly. Jim wondered if she was truly as young as she appeared, or was old enough to be their own mother or grandmother. Another man who did appear much older than either of them was tending to some chickens in a coop not far from the chapel. Curiously, he wore the dark habit of a Jesuit priest which one might see in a historical painting, a small wooden crucifix hanging from his neck on a cord.

“ _Mae g’ ovannen!_ ” The priest called out in Sindarin. It was a greeting to which both Englishmen had become accustomed over the last few days.

“ _Mae g’ovannen,_ Father!” Sam returned, receiving a warm smile in response from the elderly priest.

Father Adalbert, as Estel had called him, had been ordained into the Jesuit order some time in the late eighteenth century, and after spending several decades publicly in the service of the visible Church, when his longevity and unusual youth could no longer be hidden, he received dispensation to return home to serve as the parish priest and pastor of his family at Cerin Amroth where his longevity would not be questioned. His name was not Sindarin because he took the name of the missionary who had brought the Christian gospel to the Czech people upon the taking of his religious vows.

Not far down the path they walked, Jim and Sam spied another, somewhat larger building which they had somehow not seen before. It too was decorated with stained glass windows, and surrounded by archways but it was fashioned entirely from white stone and marble cut so carefully and so precisely that no mortar had been needed to fit the blocks together. Verdant green ivy and roses grew around the structure which seemed to be more of a walled enclosure capped by a gilded dome the closer they came. It had a distinctly Roman or Grecian look to it, but unlike them as well.

“Now I wonder what could be in there?” Sam asked. “It doesn’t look like a house or even a shed. Do you think maybe it’s another garden of some kind? Maybe a special one?”

“I don’t know, Sam.” Jim responded, wondering at the structure himself. “It reminds me of photos I’ve seen of ancient Rome or Athens, but it looks perfectly preserved.”

They passed under one of the archways and felt as though they had both been transported to another time and age. It was in fact a garden of a kind where many flowering plants lined the perimeter. There were white stone benches, and weathered statues of important people neither of them recognized. Most pointedly however, a fair few of those statues held distinctly pointed ears. Others were clearly of leaders and kings whose faces resembled any one of the Numenoreans they had met. There were names inscribed at the base of all of them, but neither of them could read the Elvish script in which they were written.

“Jim, look.” Sam told his friend as they came to the center of the structure, a kind of awe coming over him.

“I don’t believe it.” Jim replied as he cast his eyes towards what had caught Sam’s attention. “It can’t be, can it?”

“I don’t know.” Sam answered.

What had so provoked them was a tree growing directly under the center of the dome. It was snow white in color from the beginnings of its bark at the base of its trunk up to the leaves and branches. The tree’s trunk was thick, and the top of its branches grazed the ceiling above it, but it had obviously been well cared for as long as it had been there.

“It is. Or rather a seedling of the White Tree which my ancestor planted.” They heard Estel’s voice reply from behind them. “It was brought here by my fathers, like much of the stone which you see, from Minas Tirith after it fell in the cataclysm which reshaped the land. All that you see around you is everything that remains from that once great city.”

Both Jim and Sam turned to see the Numenorean standing just inside the archway through which they themselves had passed.

“Not all of the statuary which you see came from there. Some of it was recovered from Imladris, from the house of my grandmother’s father before the cataclysm, but after he and the rest of his household made his journey into the true West.” Estel continued. “His property in Middle Earth became my grandmother’s inheritance by right.”

“What happened to Rivendell?” Jim asked him. “Does it still exist too somewhere? In France or the Netherlands maybe?” He tried to make a guess as to where it might be located based on what he knew of the maps and landscape of Middle Earth compared with that of Modern Europe.

“No, unfortunately.” Estel replied. “It was overwhelmed in the deluge and what remains of that charitable home lies somewhere under the North Sea, or so I have been told. It seems as if the powers that be were determined to erase the old world and the ages that came before in order that the new might be given a clean slate. This place is all that is left to remember it.”

Estel’s expression took on one of both longing as well as pride at his family’s history. It was clear that it was not something he was permitted to share openly, and there was a brightness in his eyes as he gazed upon the memorial.

“Do you know who the statues represent?” Sam then asked, seeing the man’s eagerness to share. “We can’t read the names.”

“Of course.” The Numenorean replied with a happiness at being asked about his heritage. He drew near them and began to introduce them to the likenesses of figures they had both previously thought fictional and not historical. Some of them they knew well such as Isildur and Elendil. Others like Aranor were less recognizable.

He came around to the marble statue of a tall, clearly Elvish man wearing robes of a kind. He had a kindly but scholarly disposition about him, and appeared no more than thirty years of age at the time it was sculpted. “This man I am sure you will recognize. This is the likeness of my grandmother’s father, Elrond Half-elven.”

He then pointed out one standing not far from it of a man very similar in appearance wearing a breastplate and a crown around his head. “And this is his brother, Elros, the first king of Numenor who chose a mortal life as a Man.”

That both Jim and Sam felt a kind of awe in that museum of a forgotten civilization would have been an understatement. The faces of people long dead, the names of those they had only read about as fictional characters now brought to life in their portraits.

“And this one?” Jim asked, truly curious now.

The one he pointed out bore a striking resemblance to their guide who told the histories of the ancient faces. Among all the statues, it alone was raised on a dais as if it should be made to stand out above them, and a curious herb with basil like leaves and small white flowers grew in potted soil around its base. The herbs gave off a pungeant sweet smell like a mixture of sweet basil and wintergreen which, when inhaled, refreshed and calmed the senses. Curiously, it was also the only statue where the hilt of a very real sword rested comfortably in its hands, the tip of the blade pointed downward and resting comfortably in a niche at the base. The sword itself was about a meter and a half long from pommel to tip that they could see, and the blade itself was engraved in Elvish runes. There was not a trace of rust or wear on it at all, and it looked as if it had been recently cleaned and oiled.

“Ah, I know you know the name of this man. That is the portrait of my ancestor, Aragorn II Elessar, son of Arathorn. I was named by my grandmother after the moniker he used as a child.” Estel told them proudly.

“So then the sword he’s holding is…” Sam began to say.

“Anduril, yes. The Flame of the West. Reforged by Lord Elrond from the shards of Narsil. The sword of the king.” Estel finished for him. “There is a great weight of history about this place which the world around us does not know. There are times when I wish they could see that these people, my kin and ancestors, were not just the imagined fantasies of an English professor.”

The Numenorean’s voice betrayed a frustration which was deep seated. Jim couldn’t imagine how the man must feel knowing the grandeur of who his ancient ancestors had been, and not being able to share any of it. How must it feel to know that the whole world thinks your illustrious family lineage a pleasant fiction?

“I’m sorry.” Jim answered him. “I suppose I’d be frustrated too in your position, knowing what I know and not being able to say anything to anyone. The burden must be even heavier than the one I am now entrusted with… for all of you.”

Estel nodded with a gracious smile, seemingly thankful for the Englishman’s empathy. “We are the last of a line of kings who once ruled from one end of this continent to the other, and are now charged with protecting it from the shadows of that great past.” He told him. “You are right. It is not easy, but it is necessary. Thank you, my friend, for your understanding.”

Both Jim and Sam continued to study the portrait of the king who protected the hobbits and reunited the broken kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor at the end of the Third Age and beginning of the Fourth. There was a humility and sense of duty which the statue’s expression reflected, and which they realized was also reflected in the expression of his descendant, Estel.

“Have you discovered anything which might be of use in your research, Mr. Frudd?” Estel then asked them, bringing them back to the present problem at hand.

“Perhaps, but it is far from a perfect solution at the moment.” Jim replied. “The Lady Arwen suggested I look to the west for a solution, to old Aman and the lands which had been the abode of the Valar before they were removed from the world.”

“Yes, this I know. We’ve discussed it many times over the years.” Estel replied.

“The thought occurred to me that we might be able to destroy the ring in the forge of Aule the smith, if some trace of it still remains in the west, and if we could locate it, that is.” Jim explained.

“Aule the smith?” Estel asked placing his hand to his chin in thought, considering the proposition. “Now that is something we hadn’t considered. True. If Sauron’s forge could melt and destroy the ring, Aule’s certainly can.”

“According to everything we could find, Aule and his consort once lived in the center of Valinor in Aman. It’s reasonable to assume that his forge was located there as well.” Sam added.

“And likely still is in the true West.” Estel agreed. “But do you really think some trace of it, some shadow could still be present in the world? After all this time?”

“Before two days ago, I didn’t think any of this could be real, much less still exist. I’m afraid my expectations of what can still be and what can’t have been drastically altered by our present situation.” Jim replied.

Estel chuckled at the declaration. “Fair enough.” He answered him. “Where do you propose we begin to look for this forge?”

“That’s just it. It brings us back to our first problem. In the mythologies I am familiar with, the gods usually had their forges in volcanoes. It’s where we get the very name for them; from the Roman god, Vulcan.” Jim told him. “We’re still looking for an active volcano somewhere in the Americas instead of Europe. Maybe somewhere centrally located along there. And nearly all of them have villages or towns located nearby.”

Estel thought on it more before suggesting, “Aule was a powerful Vala, and far more powerful among the Ainur than Sauron ever was. It could be that his forge could withstand and contain the release of power which Orodruin never could. It is a good avenue to explore.”

“Would the ancient Valar or Elves have left any ruins in the Americas, or would all traces of them have been erased?” Sam asked.

“That’s a question I don’t have an answer to.” Estel replied, his own mind whirring with what he knew of the ancient Valar and their homeland before the destruction of Numenor. “I have heard though that there are ancient ruins scattered all over the Americas. Few of them are as old as when we are speaking of, but there are some, and not all of them have been identified with any one known people or culture. There stands at least the possibility. I will pass this new idea on to my grandmother. Perhaps she has more knowledge about it than she has realized.”

“Right then. And we can start looking for volcanoes near ancient ruins to narrow our search down a bit.” Sam replied. “I think we’ve got ourselves the makings of a plan to be rid of this thing.”

“I do believe you’re right, Samuel Ogden. I do believe you are right.” Estel replied. “Well done, the both of you. With any luck, we could have this done and over with before Easter comes.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Ponta Delgada, Azore Islands …

The flight beginning from Prague had been long to the point of ridiculousness. The three men had spent nearly two full days in transit to the Atlantic island chain between enough airports that count had been lost. Jim Frudd had asked aloud, on more than one occasion, as to how in that day and age one might fly from London to Los Angeles in a little over eight hours, but had to endure forty five hours or more from one part of the European Union to another only half as far at best.

For his part, Estel en Aran had endured the complaining patiently, even silently agreeing with the assessment. Instead of voicing his own irritation however, he had been strangely contemplative the entire airborne voyage. His silence outside of Cerin Amroth had not been unusual, but Jim and Sam had quite grown used to his more open disposition while in his own home and among his own kin. This however seemed different from his secretive habits meant to protect the rest of his family from the world, and the world from their secrets.

The decision to travel to the islands had not been made lightly, nor on a whim. The Numenoreans had, by common consent, no current presence there, and Estel did not have weapons or resources waiting for him once they landed. In fact, it had come when all other avenues to explore for information on the ancient whereabouts of Aule’s Forge had exhausted themselves.

Estel had spoken with his grandmother about the new line of research, but as to their inquiry she had little knowledge herself. As ancient as she was, she had been born in Middle Earth after Numenor sank beneath the waves and the true West had been removed from the world by Iluvatar, and had never seen the Elvenhome in the Undying Lands for herself, much less the lands of Valinor. She could only direct them to what tomes she had been able to recover from her father’s library at Rivendell before its demise. As neither Jim nor Sam could read the elvish text within these ancient vellum books, Estel and Gondeg took up the search through them for any reference to Aule’s domain in Valinor. They were joined by the Lady Arwen herself, who of course could read the works far more easily and fluently, and answer any questions her descendants had. After several days, they came up with nothing directly related to their search which J.R.R. Tolkien had not himself mentioned in his own published works.

But there was a reference which gave them a scant glimmer of hope the information _had_ existed somewhere at one time. There had been a library on Numenor before its own cataclysm which contained charts and maps of Aman made by the elves and given as gifts of friendship to the Numenorean kings. It had been some of these same charts which had been used by the blasphemous heretic, Ar-Pharazon, the last king of Numenor, to betray that friendship and invade Aman, landing troops on their shores where no mortal was to tread. It was that betrayal and arrogance which had led to the destruction of the island itself.

* * *

One week ago at Cerin Amroth…

“No copies of those maps or charts were preserved by Elendil or his heirs when they fled the island.” Arwen explained to those gathered around her upon the discovery. “Out of respect and repentance for the great sins of his people, he wanted to ensure that no one from Middle Earth would ever be able to find Aman again, or so my father wrote here in his own hand. Still,” she continued, “it means that copies of those maps had been made at one time, and were possibly widespread in Numenor before its own deluge.”

She revealed this while they were in her property’s library adjacent to the memorial for Gondor and ages past. It was filled with books and rolled scrolls in every language imaginable. The smells of ancient leather, vellum, parchment, and modern paper filled the building mixing with the scents of inks both modern and ancient and contrasted distinctly with the open laptop Jim had in front of him on a table where he and Sam continued to research what they could.

To a bibliophile like Jim himself was, the building was an absolutely priceless treasure trove of knowledge with shelf upon shelf of archaic works including even an original copy of the Red Book of Westmarch written with the Tengwar characters in the common tongue of that era known as “Westron,” though Arwen assured the Englishman, much to his disappointment, that it was only a copy of Bilbo and Frodo Baggins’s words and not the original manuscript which had been kept in the Shire. That disappointment had been tempered however by the sheer fact of the book’s antiquity and the near contemporaneous existence with the Hobbits who originally authored it.

“Your father would have known, wouldn’t he have?” Sam remarked. “He knew Elendil, didn’t he?”

“He did.” The elven lady confirmed.

“But where does that leave us? Numenor _was_ destroyed wasn’t it? Everything which had been there was lost beneath the waves of the Great Sea.” Jim observed. “It’s all at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean now, isn’t it?”

Both the Numenoreans and their “grandmother” were silent for a brief moment before Estel replied, “Not entirely.”

Those two words stunned both Jim and Sam and upended everything they thought they knew about the subject. “Come again?” Sam responded. “What do you mean by ‘not entirely’?”

Estel took a deep breath and sighed, as though he were about to reveal something either taboo or sacred or both concerning which his family didn’t even speak much among themselves. He moved over to where his laptop sat in front of Jim and politely asked, “May I?”

“Of course.” Jim said, moving out of the way.

From there the Numenorean leaned over the table and began to click and type. He brought up a secure web browser, then pulled up Google Maps, and entered “Azores” into the search box. He switched it to the satellite view and brought it outwards until the islands themselves were little specks, but an entire sunken landmass could be clearly seen in the ocean around them where the continental plates met.

“There.” Estel stood up and gestured to them.

“That is, or was _Numenor_?” Jim asked, his mind trying wrap itself around the information.

“We had no idea until modern mapping technology made these kinds of images possible. None of us have ever ventured west beyond the shores of Europe.” Estel explained. “We stumbled upon it a couple of decades ago when keeping tabs on some researchers, and only recently has the underwater outline been so very visible on any map. But yes, that and the islands above it are what remains of our ancestral homeland. It was only recolonized by the Portuguese in the fifteenth century, but since then clever scholars and treasure hunters have stumbled upon clues to the more ancient presence. Of course they attribute them to the Romans, the Carthaginians, or some other civilization known to them, and have no idea of their true origins.”

While Jim continued to try and absorb this information, Sam asked, “Hang on. In a hundred years, you’ve never been to the Americas?”

“None of us have traveled west across the Atlantic Ocean before. There was no real need. The ring never left the old world, and it was forbidden by our ancestor, King Elendil as my grandmother just explained. We have kept that prohibition intact.”

“Still, there’s no guarantee we might find anything in the Azores.” Jim then said, sensitive to Estel’s reluctance. “It’s been what, eleven thousand years since its destruction? Would anything besides stonework even have survived from that time?”

“That is true, Mr. Frudd.” The Lady Arwen replied. “Much has been lost in that time, but as you can see around you, not all. If there was something, any reference at all which would be useful to us located in Middle Earth, it would be here in our library or possibly on the computer internet you use so skillfully. No, if we are to proceed in locating Aule’s Forge, if it still exists, we must take what small leads we might have. If that means returning to the broken remains of Numenor to look for something which may not exist, then so be it. The most we have to lose is time and money from the inquiry, and I am willing to spend however much is needed of both to see this through to its end.”

“Of course, Lady Arwen.” Jim replied, knowing that the elf woman’s resources and pockets ran deep, though not knowing how deep or where it all came from.

* * *

Ponta Delgada, The Azore Islands…

The sun was warm in the late morning as Estel, Jim, and Sam stepped off the airplane and descended to the tarmac of the island chain’s only international airport. While Jim and Sam were both just pleased to finally be free of the confines of the aircraft, Estel’s reaction upon setting foot on the island was both subtle and profound. There was a pause as the Numenorean seemed to reflect on the import and meaning of his presence there. He was the first of his lineage to return in eleven thousand years. His features seemed to blanch as his boots made contact with the ground, and he looked slightly unwell as he briefly shut his eyes.

“Are you alright there, mate?” Sam asked upon seeing his reaction. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Estel opened his eyes again to see his two friends. “Felt, rather than seen.” He replied at first before adding, “I’m fine, let’s get moving. We have a lot of work to do” He told them, rather unconvincingly.

They made their way through the airport customs and found themselves a white colored, Mercedes taxi to take them to their hotel. Not knowing how long they might have to search the islands, they had arranged for lodgings not far from the airport for the week at least.

“ _Bem-vindos, meus amigos em Ponta Delgada!_ ” The older taxi driver greeted them with an unusual amount of cheer as he opened his trunk for their meager luggage. He wore a loose, sky blue, button down short sleeve shirt and blue jeans. Dark, aviator style sunglasses covered his eyes.

“ _Voce fala ingles? Meu portugues e pobre._ ” Estel replied in the man’s own language.

“ _Como?_ _Naturalmente!_ Who doesn’t speak English these days, my friends?” The lightly tanned taxi driver with distinctive Iberian features responded in a heavy accent. “Half of my fares couldn’t tell me where they were going if I didn’t! Where can I take you?”

“To the _Apartamento do Paim_ , please.” Estel replied as the three of them piled into the vehicle’s back seat.

“ _Naturalmente._ A very popular place for our visitors to stay. Can I recommend a good _restaurante_ nearby? The Cafe Felix is not bad, and it is priced _muito_ _razoavelmente_.” the taxi driver told them.

“My thanks, but our hotel first if you please.” Estel responded patiently.

“ _Naturalmente_ , _naturalmente_! Anywhere you’d like to go, Afonso will get you there! Anything you need, I can get it for you! No one knows these islands better than me!” The taxi driver told them with a smile.

“We heard there were ancient ruins in these islands. Do you know of any?” Sam asked rather hastily, to which he had received an elbow in the ribs from both Jim and Estel.

Quickly Jim tried to explain the question away, “What my friend means is…”

“Oh, _naturalmente_! _Sim_! We’ve had many _turistas_ come to see our new findings! There are many, _meus amigos_! You know, many people think our islands are all that is left of the _Ilha da Atlantida_. Are you _estudiosos_ of such things?” He asked in a friendly fashion.

“Of a kind, yes.” Jim replied, reaching over and putting a hand on Estel’s arm when he was about to respond. The Englishman realized right then that their inquiries didn’t have to be as secretive as they had quickly become accustomed to. They merely had to use the right nomenclature, _Atlantis_ instead of _Numenor_ , and suddenly their search became nothing out of the ordinary for the island locals. “Atlantis has always been of great interest to us.”

“Oh, then I’m afraid _Sao Miguel_ is not the island for you, _meus amigos_. No, the _ilha_ you want is _Ilha Terceira_.” Afonso insisted definitively.

“ _Ilha Terceira_?” Estel questioned.

“Oh, _Sim_ , _senhor_.” The driver replied. “That is where they found the _piramide_ off the coast under the water. Eight thousand _metros_ _grande_ if you can believe it. And that is where they found the cave _templos._ Oh, what did they call them, er… _hypogea_ , _sim_. I am certain the place you want to go is _Ilha Terceira_.”

Jim, Sam, and Estel all looked at each other. The taxi driver had just given them a stronger lead of where to begin than they had left Cerin Amroth with.

“Thank you, friend.” Jim replied. “Do you know how we would be able to arrange passage to Ilha Terceira?”

“Well, there are small _aeroplanos_ that go between the islands, or you could hire a boat to take you there for the day. If it were me, _pessoalmente,_ I would want to take the boat I think. It is not as fast, but it is much more _pitoresco_ out on the water.” Afonso answered.

As the taxi pulled up to the front of the _Apartamento do Paim_ , Sam asked him, “You wouldn’t happen to know of anyone we could hire a boat from, would you?”

“ _Naturalmente, senhor!_ ” The taxi driver told him as he parked the Mercedes. “I told you, anything you need, Afonso can get for you! There is the ferry between the islands, or if you’d like something more _privado_ , my cousin, Miguel has a boat, and his rates are very good for _turistas_! I can introduce you if you’d like.”

“That would be welcome.” Estel replied before opening the vehicle’s door.

Afonso opened the trunk of the vehicle and removed the small duffelbags the three men had carried with them from Prague, handing them to each of their owners. In turn, the Numenorean withdrew a one hundred Euro note and handed it to the Azorean driver.

“This is far too much, _meu amigo_.” The driver protested. “The fare was only _quinze_.”

“Consider it a thank you for the information, and a deposit in the event we do need something more.” Estel replied. He then took out a piece of paper and a pen from the front pocket of his own shirt and wrote down a number on it before handing it to him and saying. “Have your cousin call this number and ask for a Mr. Konig.”

In reply, Afonso removed a small paper card from the pocket of his shirt and handed it to Estel. “ _Naturalmente, senhor_. Here is my _numero de celular_ as well. You need anything else, you call it. Afonso will take care of you.”

“Count on it, friend.” Estel told him before the driver returned to his Mercedes and drove away.

“Do you think it’s wise to trust him?” Jim asked the other two men. “He seemed a little too eager to help.”

“It’s never wise to trust anyone too much until you truly know them.” Estel responded. “But he may prove to be of great use to us, and I sensed no ill will from him. It will be good for us, I think, to build a relationship with a local contact who has connections. He may be the key to finding what we’re after sooner rather than later, and the sooner we can find what we’re looking for, the better.”

After this, the men entered the establishment and, after checking in, made their way to the three bedroom apartment they had rented. The inside of the apartment was finely furnished, well kept, and, as Sam looked around it, put his own flat back in Goole to shame several times over.

“Are all the rooms as nice as this one is?” Sam asked, feeling a little more out of his league. His family had always been working class, and there wasn’t a trace of noble blood in his own ancestry that he knew of. He himself was just a grocery clerk, a nobody that had gotten caught up in all of this. He couldn’t even claim to be as well educated as his best mate was. A part of him felt like he really didn’t belong in such rich places with such high class folk. He had felt somewhat that way at Cerin Amroth too, knowing the unusually highborn class to which the Lady and her family belonged, but she and Estel’s kin there had made him feel so at home and at ease, the sensation was muted at best. It hadn’t really hit him until entering their private flat on that sunny, almost Mediterranean-like island.

“I am certain of it.” Estel answered from his own bedroom after having put his dufflebag on his bed. “It was the best hotel suited to our needs.”

The Numenorean sounded distracted as he replied, and seemed oblivious to Sam’s own momentary trepidations. He had been somewhat that way ever since stepping off the plane.

“Are you alright in there, Mr. en Aran?” Sam asked, forgetting his own insecurities for the moment. “You’ve not quite been yourself since landing.”

“I’m fine. It’s just been a long trip. That’s all.” Estel replied.

“Are you certain of that?” Jim asked as well. “You mentioned something about feeling ghosts instead of seeing them.” He told him, remembering.

The Numenorean sighed before responding. “I don’t know what it is, or how to explain what I felt upon setting foot on this land. There was a great sorrow, as of myriads upon myriads of souls in terror and pain. Myriads upon myriads of my own people. They have been gone for eleven thousand years, and yet somehow I can feel them around me as well. There is also the feeling like I should not be here. Like Elendil himself is warning me off from proceeding any further. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

Both Sam and Jim had entered the room to stand next to their companion as he spoke so personally. Sam had placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly while Jim replied to him, “We’ll only be here so long as we need to be. After that, we’ll leave the dead to their rest. Surely the ghosts of your ancestors wouldn’t object to our reason for being here?”

“Most of those who perished in Numenor were those deceived by Sauron’s trickery, and were worshipers of Morgoth. It is not unthinkable the pyramid described by our driver was one such place of worship for his devilish cult once upon a time. Those who fled with Elendil were elf friends and those faithful to Iluvatar and the old ways.” Estel answered. “I do not think those ghosts who linger here would be favorable to our plight in any way.”

“Then we do what we came to do, and leave them to their misery, like Jim said.” Sam responded.

Estel smiled slightly, warmed by their concern and said, “You’re right of course. We will do what must be done.” Still, there was a haunted look in his eyes which did not leave.

* * *

Two days later…

The sun was warm, and the sea inviting as the large fishing boat, _La Donzela_ , plied through the calm ocean waters on the five hour journey between Sao Miguel and Terceira. The mostly white ship showed its age, having been built at some point three decades before, but it was well maintained and reasonably comfortable. Below deck were bunks for ten, a galley, and a small dining booth with a table. The owner, Miguel Mota-Vieira was a casual, easy going, middle aged man who appeared well accustomed to accommodating adventurous tourists whatever their pursuit in the Azores might be.

The man had initially only asked for seventy five Euros to make the single trip. More than the ferry might have been (which, they learned, would not be making the voyage until the end of the week regardless), but still less than airfare for a one way flight. As they spoke however, Estel offered him five thousand euros to hire his boat exclusively for the next several days in the event they would need to journey to other islands, and another hundred and fifty euros for his discretion as to his passengers and their business. As a result, both captain and ship were cheerfully employed at the companions’ leisure during their stay in the Azores.

“ _Meu barco e seu barco, senhor_.” Had been Miguel’s agreeable response to the offer. _My boat is your boat, sir._

Their destination was the historic city of Angra do Heroismo on the southern coast of the island, and in particular, the small peninsula of Monte Brasil which jutted out from the coastline. A small marina waited there for them to make port. The verdant green hills of the peninsula came into view followed by the Romanesque red roofed, white colored structures of the town giving the whole scene a feeling of stepping back in time as they came into the small harbor.

This latter point sat better with Jim and Sam than it did with their Numenorean friend whose personal poltergeists appeared to follow him across the waters between the two islands, and waited for him once they docked. Jim empathized with him, wishing he could understand what Estel must be going through. England certainly had its share of violent history and ghosts to be sure. Some of them were quite famous in point of fact. To his knowledge however, his British homeland had never suffered the loss of all its people at once in a great deluge at any point in its history. He tried to imagine how he might feel, and he just couldn’t.

It was mid-afternoon when they tied off the moorings and set foot on the dock. As the fishing ship’s captain settled with the marina authorities, her three passengers disembarked to learn what they could. The _monte_ which was the first focus of their visit lay looming across the bay, encouraging, inviting them even to come and partake of what secrets it may hold. The three men were all dressed casually in short sleeve button down shirts and denim blue jeans as though merely tourists there to enjoy the sun and island atmosphere. Sam noticed that Estel wore his unusual silver and emerald ring openly on the index finger of his left hand in that place, though said nothing of it.

“Well, where do we start?” The English store clerk asked.

“First we find out where on the peninsula the hypogea are, then we find a guide willing to take us there.” Estel answered him.

“Right. Sounds simple enough.” Sam replied.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jim added. “Perhaps this trip will be less troublesome than we had expected.”

The day was pleasant, and the walk from the marina around the bay short enough to where hiring a taxi was neither necessary nor practical. It took them fifteen minutes down the _Rua de Oliveira_ to reach the ancient church, _Igreja de Sao Joao Baptista_ , at the base of the extinct volcano. As it turned out, Monte Brasil was neither restricted or unreachable. Rather it served as the city’s cental park and hiking trail which had a number of picturesque vistas along its paths. A number of people were out coming to and from the

They stopped first at the church and inquired politely from a priest who happened to be out front that day. The Father responded in reasonably fluent English that the cave dwellings could be found along the walking path and near the fort of Sao Diogo, and were not difficult to find. They thanked the cleric and, after Estel curiously took a few moments inside the sanctuary of the chapel to pray and light a candle, they headed up into the paths of the protected landscape. Before leaving however, he filled a small vial with water from the baptismal font and placed it securely in his chest pocket.

“I never figured you for a religious man, Mr. en Aran.” Sam mentioned when they were farther up the trail and past the moss covered stones of the Fort of Sao Joao Baptista.

“I was baptized into the Church as an infant by Father Adalbert, and was raised by my parents and grandmother to revere the Gospel and its teachings.” Estel replied. “My family has always been faithful to Eru Iluvatar as far back as memory may go and beyond, regardless of what name a language may call Him by. Especially in this place, it was fitting to pray.”

“Pray for what?” Sam asked.

“For guidance and protection in our task, for the souls of all those lost here,” Estel replied, “and for those still trapped, unable to move on.”

“You really believe there’s still ghosts trapped here from when Numenor fell?” Sam asked, continuing to worry about the man who had become a friend. He feared that it might have been a mistake bringing Estel here, and that so doing might have affected his very sanity.

“I know there are,” Estel responded with a grave tone, “and they are still very aware of my presence here. They know that an heir of the lords of Andunie has set foot in Numenor once more, even after all these millennia.”

“Andunie?” Sam asked, not having heard the place name before and wanting to change the subject somewhat.

“Andunie was a port city in Andustar, the northwestern region, and stood for over two thousand years beyond its founding. At one time it was the largest city in Numenor, and an Elf-haven, until the rise of Armenelos and Morgoth’s cult. It was the inheritance of my ancestor Elendil and his father Amandil before him who opposed Ar-Pharazon in the final days of this land, and one of the last sanctuaries of the faithful.” Estel responded. “There are histories from Gondor which my grandmother has preserved about it.”

“Still,” Jim spoke up, returning to the subject, “we mean them no harm or ill will. Perhaps they will recognize that and leave us be.”

They continued up the trail, and came across several of the caves in question without much searching needed. Using a torch app on their mobiles, they explored the interiors of these with little fruit however. They were small, and appeared to have no internal markings that they could discern. At best, there were some alcoves, and places that appeared to have been used for pagan worship at some point in the distant past. Leaving these behind, they continued onwards, intending to leave no stone on the peninsula unturned.

Time passed and the sun began to dip down towards the western horizon as they continued their search, making their way up into the central vale of the extinct caldera’s volcano which had once been used for fertile farmland by the settlers to that island. They could not say that the search had been miserable up to that point for the views and the ideal climate and weather, but it had been disappointing.

“I’m not sure there’s anything left for us to find here.” Jim finally said as they entered the central area of the verdant caldera itself, and the shadows were lengthening more quickly around them as afternoon gave way to evening. “Even if by chance there were a map or a chart which survived, they’d have already been found and taken by a private collector not knowing what he had.”

They appeared to be the last ones remaining in the park at that time. There were no other hikers or tourists nearby that they could see. The air around them gradually began to grow cooler, the chill of the ocean breeze beginning to overpower the dying sun’s warmth.

Estel nodded his agreement. “It was only ever a remote chance at best anything might be left so openly for us to find, Mr. Frudd. We should return to the boat and make plans for our next move.”

Just then, as the sun began its final plunge into the ocean to the west, the silver ring which had lain dormant on its chain around Jim’s neck began to feel weightier, and pull at his neck. Jim’s hand went instinctively to the silver circlet, not understanding what was happening.

“Are you alright, Jim?” Sam asked, noticing his friend’s trouble.

“Something’s wrong with the ring.” Jim replied, looking as if he was having trouble remaining standing. “It’s gotten heavier all of the sudden, like something’s pulling on it.” He then pulled his hand away from it sharply as though burned. “And it’s gone cold as ice.”

“ _You are not welcome here, elf-friend._ ” A wheezing, whispering voice was heard on the air around the three men. “ _You should not have come.”_ A second voice, equal in quality to the first added.

The three men turned to look this way and that but saw no one and nothing in the fading light. The air around them continued to drop in temperature until it was colder than it had any business being in that part of the world at that time of year. It was a chill that burrowed deep into their flesh and up their spines.

“We aren’t alone here.” Sam was the first one to verbally recognize the presence which was making itself felt.

“Who is there?!” Estel called out, standing tall and taking on an air of authority. “Show yourself at once!”

Jim felt almost strangled by the ring’s grip around his neck, dragging the chain down and dropping him to his knees. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than relief from the weight which threatened to bind him to the ground. He forced his hands to work at removing the thing from his neck in spite of the painful cold. In the process of so doing, his index finger slipped through the circlet, even with the chain around it, and it wrapped itself around his finger.

Then he disappeared from Sam and Estel’s sight altogether.

The next thing Jim knew, the sky above him was red and burning and the world around him went wrong once again. He and those with him were surrounded by the haunting shapes of hundreds if not thousands of people. They wore archaic clothes which one might be be forgiven for thinking were medieval Roman or Byzantine. Most looked to be dressed as common folk, though a few of the specters held the remnants of finer and more noble raiments from a civilization he didn’t recognize. The expressions on their faces were not welcoming, but looked as though they were in pain and miserable. The focus of their misery was not however himself, or even his best mate, Sam. Instead, they appeared to direct their malice towards Estel en Aran, who, in that otherworldly realm, appeared to shine with a kind of pure inner light which strangely neither Sam nor himself possessed.

Just then, Jim felt the weight of the ring relax as he saw firsthand the ghastly host of spirits around them. It was just as the Numenorean had told them. All the spirits of the place around them were drawn to him in both despair and anger.

He then pulled the ring from his finger and the phantasms vanished from his sight, but he could still feel their presence around them.

“Jim!” Sam called out when he reappeared. “What happened! You just disappeared right in front of us!”

“You weren’t supposed to put the ring on ever again!” Estel admonished him, even as he continued to stand his ground against the unseen interlopers.

“It did it of its own will.” Jim told them both, taking deep breaths. “I saw them. I saw all of them. People from ages past. Angry and in pain. They were not pleased to see us at all.”

“ _You will suffer, elf-friend._ ” The first disembodied voice spoke through the air. “ _You and your companions will suffer as we have suffered this long eternity_.”

“I and my kin were not responsible for your suffering!” Estel called out to them, holding up his hands. When he did, the ring which he wore came into full view, and itself appeared to gleam with a light all its own. “That was the fault of King Ar-Pharazon and his madness! The lords of Andunie had nothing to do with the cataclysm which befell this land! They built ships to save as many as they could from the impending catastrophe!”

“ _They left us here to die, and suffer for eternity.”_ The voice returned.

“That was your own lot’s fault for listening to Sauron’s lies!” Sam’s voice then rang out into the night air, he himself surprised at it. “You had the truth since the beginning, and you went and worshiped the devil himself, didn’t you?! You bought into it, and these are the consequences! Don’t blame my friend here or his family for your own choices!”

“It’s the truth!” Jim added, thinking quickly and knowing there was no way for any of them to escape the poltergeists through use of force. “But maybe there’s a way we can help each other! Maybe there’s a way you can be released if you repent of your devotion to Morgoth, and lend aid to Amandil’s heir!”

There was silence for a minute, and the first voice asked, “ _How?_ ”

“We are looking for a map or a chart of Aman which may show the location of Aule’s forge. We seek to destroy a ring of power and free those spirits still trapped in the world by it.” Estel announced to them.

“ _There are no charts left to the living. All reside at the bottom of the Great Sea._ ” The ghastly voice replied.

“No charts left to the living?” Jim repeated, his mind whirring, “Do the dead remember then? Do any of you know where it might have been in the world?”

There was silence once more until a voice which hadn’t yet spoken was heard in the chill of the night. “ _I saw those charts before my ship was lost to the sea. I know of where you speak and where it might be found._ _Swear to us that we might be freed from our torment, and I will tell you what you wish to know._ ”

Without hesitation, Estel replied, “As much as is within my power to give, I swear on my ancestors Amandil and Elendil, lords of Andunie, if you help us, I will release you.”

“What are you doing?” Sam asked in disbelief at the man’s brazen oath. “How can you promise something like that?”

Estel however remained silent, waiting expectantly for the specter’s answer.

“ _The word of your house is good currency, heir of Amandil._ ” The ghost replied. “ _Aule resided at these coordinates on the chart at the very center of Aman before the world changed._ ”

In front of Estel, a ghostly lettering in the elvish writing appeared in the grass as if drawn by an unseen finger. The Numenorean studied the characters intently, committing them to memory. “Thank you, friend.” He replied.

“ _Now, heir of Amandil, fulfill your oath._ ” The voice demanded.

Sam and Jim were both dead quiet, looking at Estel and wondering how the Numenorean intended to do just that.

“First,” Estel began, “Do you renounce the worship of Morgoth and the lies of his servant Sauron to which you devoted yourselves which have damned you up until this point?” he intoned, asking the unseen host as if performing a holy ritual.

There was something akin to a murmur around them, and then one by one hundreds of ghostly voices affirmed, “ _I do… we do… I serve Morgoth no longer…_ ”

Estel then continued, “Do you swear allegiance to Eru Iluvatar, the Valar, and the hope of the Edain that Eru himself would enter the world as a Man, which hope has now been fulfilled as was prophesied in the First Age of the world to our ancestors?”

“ _We do… we have seen and heard of this One… His followers speak of the coming of Eru made Man who defeated death itself_...” The voices of many rang out in understanding of what the Numenorean spoke.

“Then in the name of Eru Iluvatar made Man, be forgiven, and be released from torment into His paradise.” Estel told them. Taking the vial of baptismal water from his pocket, he unstopped it and flung the contents into the night air around him, the spray and droplets falling everywhere across the vale.

Suddenly, the air around them felt warmer and lighter as if a great burden had been lifted. And then one by one, ghostly forms lit up with a brilliant white light around them in a great display. Hundreds of them became glorious to look upon, and then vanished from sight once again entirely.

“ _Thank you,_ _lord of Andunie_ _…_ ” the final voice was heard as they slipped away into the rest they had so long been denied.

“Be at peace.” Estel replied quietly as they faded entirely until only the presence of the three men there could be felt, and the night returned to something warmer and far more pleasant.

“What just… I don’t get it. How did you know that would work?” Sam asked in disbelief at what he had just witnessed.

“You baptized them, didn’t you? That was the Christian right of baptism, of a kind anyways.” Jim asked, recognizing parts of it.

“Of a kind.” Estel confirmed for him. “In truth, it was a leap of faith for me. Either our Lord and Savior is Eru made Man as the Church teaches, or He is not.” He told them. “Either there is power in the water blessed by His Spirit and it is the same power which sank this island, trapped those spirits here, and removed Aman from the world, or there is not and it is not. In answer to your question, I am no priest, and I did not know for certain that such a renunciation and baptismal oath would work, but I had faith that it might. I reasoned that if the One who condemned them here was also the One who said He had come not to condemn but to save, then I believed there there to be the chance they might be forgiven and released from their purgatory as well on the same terms as the rest of mankind.”

Both Jim and Sam were speechless at his response, neither of them having ever taken the teachings of the Church, any Church, as more than mythology and quaint traditions before that point. Neither knew how to respond or what to say at the clear display of holy power.

“Come, friends. We have what we came for. We must get this information back to Cerin Amroth. My grandmother will know how to interpret it, I am sure.” Estel then told them, then began to walk back towards the trail which led back into the city.

Shaken from their astonishment, Jim and Sam followed, seeing the Numenorean with new eyes as if for the first time.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Brussels, Belgium…

It struck Dimitry like lightning so hard he had turned the wheel of the auto he drove and nearly rolled it before pulling out of it and trying to return to his task. He had to pull over to the side of the road the urge to react was so strong. Somewhere to the west, out across the Atlantic Ocean, the One Ring, the Fuhrer’s Ring, was calling to him. Someone had put it on and instinctively, instantly. he became aware of it through the ring of power which now sat on his hand. It felt like a shock of electricity, and an intense pull like a magnet to the arrow of a compass. Try as he might, he could not resist it. He did not want to resist it. And then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, it went silent once more and he was left with only the vaguest of feelings of where to the west it might be. It was maddening down to what was left of his very soul.

He had returned to Brussels to retrace his steps in the search for the ring immediately after his… “meeting” with the grandmasters. He still could not process what they had done to him, both the power and the curse they had bestowed on him, turning him into one like themselves. Light of any kind became painful for him and he found he had to keep his face and skin hidden from it. A coat with a dark hood which fully hid his face became a regular part of his clothing as he struggled to adapt. It was difficult if not impossible for him to move about during the day, especially in full sunlight, and it was only tolerable on days which were overcast. Moonlight and starlight felt like the points of cold daggers, and he could no longer enjoy them as he once did having to avert his face from them. Darkness however, that was another matter entirely. Darkness was soothing, and he felt the most powerful, the most energetic at night when no light could be seen.

Among other changes to his being, he did not sleep. He could not sleep. He felt no need for it. His reflexes were faster and his muscles felt stronger than they had ever been. His sense of smell was keener, and he could pick up the scent of anything within miles, even if it had been days since its passing. His eyes could see things to which no living man’s eyes had ever been privy. There was an entire world of shades which existed alongside the living of which the living world had little knowledge. Shadows and ghosts still roamed the European countryside from all ages that human beings had walked it. They were pitiful and haunting to gaze on in their misery, at least at first. His heart grew cold to their plight quickly however. He found he simply did not care, and they faded into the background of his new view of the world.

He had gone back to the parking garage of the Brussel-Zuid station in the dead of night where his comrades had fallen. It did not surprise him by that point that their shades too were still present, trapped in the world where their bodies had fallen. Each of them looked to him somehow knowing his awareness of them, pleading as it were, to free them from the torment of their continued purgatory as it were.

He was not interested in providing relief for them however. Instead, instinctively drawing on the power of the ring he now wore, he bound them even further, enslaving them to his will.

“You will serve me now.” He told them, his own voice having taken on a grave, and otherworldly timbre to it.

Under a compulsion they could not resist, each of the five shades nodded in obeisance. “We will serve you now.” Their spirit forms mouthed.

“Where did those men go?” He asked, knowing they would know of whom he spoke. “What road did they take?”

“East.” One of the shades responded. “Out of the city.”

“Go east then. Find them.” He ordered his small unit of the dead.

“Yes…” They responded and moved off from where they had died and into the city unseen by any but the other shadows which haunted its streets.

After the shades had departed, he sniffed around the garage. There were many scents of many, many different people which had come and gone. The scent of car exhaust of both diesel and gasoline engines was stronger. Remembering the silver automobile that he had seen them steal away in and where it had been parked, he moved to where they had all been together. There were many scents of living humans which had come and gone since, but one in particular stood out as distinctive. It was faint and growing fainter, but there was an herbal sweetness about the smell that was unusual, like a combination of mint and basil.

It was enough for him to begin to track. He got back into the Audi he continued to use, uncaring if anyone recognized it, and left the garage in pursuit of the unique scent of mint and basil which the tall man and his rescuer had left behind.

* * *

At Cerin Amroth on the German/Czech border several days later…

The flight back from the Azores had been just as long and tedious as the flight to the island chain. All three men were happy to depart the aircraft once it landed in Prague, and meet Estel’s cousin, Gondeg, once more who drove them the rest of the seventy miles across the border into Germany, and back towards the sanctuary of the Numenoreans. Tired and worn out from travel, and as it was in the evening when they arrived, the three men immediately went to Estel’s cottage at Cerin Amroth, fell into their beds, and were fast asleep, leaving the mystery of the Numenorean coordinates for the next day.

On the morrow and after a hearty breakfast, they met the Lady Arwen in the library on the property once more. There, Estel had delivered the numerals he had written down to her for her much more studied examination.

While he had committed the long elvish digits which the shade of the deceased Numenorean had given him to memory, Estel had also written them down as soon as he could in their exact forms and kept that piece of paper close to his breast at all times. The shapes of them had been archaic even from the Elvish that he knew, and, while his mind had registered what numbers they might represent, he was not certain of himself this time for their age. The Elvish tongues had changed as all languages did even when they were in widespread use, and while his own family continued to use the Sindarin language among themselves, they had largely ceased from using the archaic numerals of the first three ages on a daily basis in favor of the modern Arabic ones much as the Romans, Greeks, and the rest of Europe’s scholars had ceased using their own alphabet based characters in the fifteenth century.

Arwen Undomiel studied the characters for several minutes, and then went to a shelf and removed an atlas from it, laying the dusty book on an antique table. She opened it up to a map of the world which held markings for finding latitude and longitude.

“I recognize these numerals.” She told them to no one’s surprise. “They have not been in widespread use since the cataclysm which befell Middle Earth. They are nautical coordinates.”

“Yes. We believed as much.” Jim responded, the rugged laptop open in front of him. “What do they mean, my Lady?”

“Ten degrees north of the equator,” she replied, her eyes on the map as she traced the coordinates against the markings, “and fifty one and a half degrees west of the prime meridian.”

Jim then took those numbers and entered them into Google Maps. His heart sank when the results came up on the screen. “That can’t be! Or if it is, then we have lost. Those coordinates put it in the ocean just north of French Guiana in South America.”

Arwen looked up from her atlas and smiled like a schoolteacher waiting patiently for her student to try again. “That depends on where your prime meridian is located, dear one.”

“What do you mean, lady?” Sam asked. “Where’s it supposed to be located?”

“The current prime meridian runs through Greenwich in England, Sam.” Jim replied. “But it wasn’t always seen so, was it? It’s been moved several times.”

“And in the Second and Third Ages, what is now England would have been land locked. No one would have thought of using it for navigation.” Estel added.

“Yes. At the end of the Third Age, much of what is now England was known as the Shire.” Arwen added. “And its people were brave, but were never known for their nautical prowess as much as their skills at farming, cooking, and the telling of songs and stories.”

“And these coordinates were given by the shade of a Numenorean.” Estel said. “What place would the ancient Numenorean sea farers have used for their prime meridian?”

Estel’s question then sparked an obscure memory from his studies into mythology. It was something he had come across in his reading at one point, but had shortly thereafter not thought of again for the seeming uselessness of the information.

“I read somewhere that, up until the medieval period, the Fortunate Isles, what the Greeks called the ‘Isles of the Blessed,’ were used as a kind of prime meridian by sailors. Claudius Ptolemy is the first recorded to do so in the second century CE.” Jim told them. “The Isles of the Blessed are mythological to be sure, but he was referencing a real set of islands out past the pillars of Hercules near what was thought to be the ring of Oceanus.”

“And where are they supposed to be then?” Sam asked.

“Well, one of the locations with which they’ve been identified we just came from, the Azores.” Jim answered, looking at Arwen who smiled at him like a proud teacher.

“They would have used a place in Numenor, wouldn’t they have?” Estel then asked, picking up on Jim’s thought. “A city or a landmark? Maybe one of the older port cities. What is the longitude for the northwesternmost island in the Azores, Mr. Frudd?” He then inquired, having a certain feeling he knew which one. The oldest port in Numenor which had ships running to and from Avallone in Tol Eressea

off the coast of Eldamar had been Andunie, the port city which his ancient ancestors had ruled.

The Englishman dutifully pulled up the Azores on the map, checked the coordinates, and announced, “Corvo. It sits at 31.109 west.”

“Add that to the longitude we were given. What does that come out to? Eighty two or eighty three degrees west? Where does that put us on the map?”

Jim obeyed and came up with his answer, surprised at the result, “Costa Rica. And the position itself is very near two volcanoes!” He then zoomed in on the mountains in question. “Irazu and Turrialba. Both of them are still very active. Turrialba in particular has had several explosive eruptions over the past few years, and there are ancient ruins nearby whose origins haven’t been identified.”

“So, he was an honest ghost after all.” Sam exclaimed, shaking his head at the memory of the experience.

“That he was, Mr. Ogden.” Estel replied. “That he was indeed.”

“Call me ‘Sam’.” Sam replied. He then added when Estel had raised his eyebrows in a show of surprise, “I think we’re well past the ‘mister’ point now, don’t you?”

“Agreed.” Jim chimed in.

“Only if you call me ‘Estel’ from now forwards.” The Numenorean remarked with a half smile.

“It’s a deal then.” Sam answered him.

“After so many eons of time…” The Lady Arwen said, her eyes which gazed at the image of Central America in her atlas misting over as the weight of their discovery settled on her shoulders. “We finally have a way to set him free, and set everything right at last.”

“Grandmother?” Estel asked at her unusually open display.

She smiled sweetly in reply at him, but said no more on the matter.

* * *

Later that evening…

Jim, Sam, and their Numenorean host were all in the sitting room of Estel’s cottage that evening after supper. They had eaten on their own this time in the small house, rather than with the matriarch of Cerin Amroth as had become their custom while there. She had made the excuse that she had “other plans” for her supper, and they had not pried any further. One did not question an eleven thousand year old former queen on her dinner plans lightly.

Estel had been busy on his computer making the necessary travel arrangements for the three of them to Costa Rica. Ironically, it would be a shorter flight there than it had been to the Azores, twelve hours or so in comparison with nearly two full days, and it would be non-stop as opposed to the plane hopping they had been forced to endure in their previous excursion. They would need to fly out of Frankfurt, which would entail a nearly five hour ride in the back seat of the BMW once again, but that couldn’t be helped. The soonest flight had been two days from then and there had been many open seats on the aircraft. It seemed as though all of it might be over by the beginning of the next week.

“If only Frodo and Samwise had it so easy.” He remarked to himself out loud, considering it further. “Had they the advantage of being able to fly wherever they needed to, they could have flown into Mordor, dropped the ring off in Mt. Doom, and been home before anyone had known they were gone.”

“All too true. Be thankful we do not have the misfortune of needing to walk to Costa Rica to fulfill our task.” Estel responded as he finalized the travel plans. “Be thankful also that we do not need visas, otherwise we should be making an extra trip to the embassy in Berlin to get them.”

“All too true there, isn’t it?” Sam added. “Of course I read a theory online somewhere that flying had been Gandalf’s plan all along, and he had meant to take Frodo and Sam to the eagles to fly them into Mordor until he met up with the Balrog in Moria.”

“What nonsense. Who came up with that idea?” Estel replied.

Jim smiled and shook his head as the two men went back and forth continuing to discuss it over open bottles of pilsner, which only aided in the devolution of the conversation into something truly absurd. He himself had been nursing one, but had not made much progress.

“It’s a fine night. I’m going for a walk.” He announced to the two other who waved him on, clearly unconcerned for his safety in that place protected by the last elvish ring of power in the world.

He left the house and began to walk down the cobblestone pathways. The night quiet and peaceful around him. In a week, maybe less, all this would be lost to him and he would return to his book shop and Sam would return to working at the grocery. The more that thought ran through his mind, the more surreal it became to him than the idea of continuing in that hidden world where Tolkien was history and at least one elf still walked in Europe. How could he go back to the life he had known when his world had gotten so much bigger since then?

He wandered through the enclave without direction or purpose, visiting several of the gardens and inhaling the mixed fragrances of the flowers therein. He continued onwards towards the ancient Christian chapel whose heavy wooden door was never locked against thieves as no thieves or vandals could make it past Cerin Amroth’s magically guarded borders. Pulling on the heavy metal pull ring of the door, he opened it and entered the sacred space filled with Elvish writing, still lit by candlelight even when no one was present.

Jim sat in a pew closer to the altar this time. The memory of the holy power unleashed by the baptismal water which had been displayed on Monte Brasil came to the forefront of his mind, as did Estel’s explanation for his seemingly unrealistic oath. The truth was he didn’t know how to feel about any of it. His rational mind which rejected any such things as miracles, deities, or for that matter anything which could be construed as magic had been unable to come up with explanations for any of the things he had witnessed and been privy to up until that point.

He sat in the pew looking first at the altar and then at the crucifix which stood behind it. They were both things which he had rarely treated with any gravity or seriousness prior to his recent adventures. He could however, in that moment, no longer deny the holy power which he had personally seen displayed. For that reason, he could no longer deny the _source_ of that same holy power and the Deity from whom it ultimately flowed.

“I’m sorry for not taking you seriously.” Jim said, addressing the space around the altar, and in particular the crucifix behind it. “I was raised to see all of this just a meaningless tradition, and even a kind of joke. I didn’t know before what I know now.”

He didn’t know what else to say just then either as the words dried up. Did he ask for forgiveness? Did he make a new pledge to make things right? What did one say to the Almighty when he had just discovered that He was, in fact, _real_? Did Jim want to know more? He wasn’t certain of that either. The Lady Arwen was deeply religious, and, as he had learned, so apparently was Estel after a fashion. Theirs was a faith which seemed tried and tested, and was based on their own personal experiences. For Jim, such a thing was new and, to be quite honest, he was frightened when confronted with the reality of it all.

“I hope you’ll understand if I need time to sort this all out.” He finally said.

The chapel remained quiet and still, the candles around him flickered in the darkness only slightly. If the Power that was had responded, it was too subtle for the English book shop owner to comprehend.

“Well, alright then.” Jim then said, getting up from the pew and, not really knowing what was appropriate after that, made a quick bow to the altar before leaving. “I guess I’ll be taking my leave then.”

Jim departed the chapel, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at the whole episode, but thoughtful as well. He continued down the cobblestone path to the memorial built from the fallen stone of Minas Tirith, the White City of Gondor from thousands of years prior. He caught the sweet pungent odor of the _Athelas_ plants which had been potted around the statue of Aragorn II even as he approached the white stone arches. The moon was out full that night and lit the entire structure of white stone into something otherworldly and from another time altogether.

That was when he heard the two women’s voices speaking from within. They were not whispering. Of course, if the meeting had been meant to be clandestine, there would have still been no need to whisper. There was little chance of anyone else hearing them as there were so few people in the enclave at all. In truth, he couldn’t understand a word of what they said regardless, because the conversation was entirely in the Elvish Sindarin language he had grown accustomed to hearing spoken aloud, and it was being spoken with a fluency which betrayed it as the native speech of both speakers.

But he was certain that one of the two women was the Lady Arwen herself, recognizing the timbre and tones of her voice. The other one however he did not recognize. It was of a different quality, higher in pitch, but no less pleasant or musical to listen to.

His curiosity getting the better of his courtesy, he cautiously and carefully approached to see the two female speakers a little better. They stood near the statue which Estel had pointed out as that of the Lady’s father, the Lord Elrond Half-Elven. He could make out the braided, raven dark hair of Estel’s grandmother as it shone with a kind of silvery radiance all it own. She stood dressed in a jacket covering a plain dress.

But the woman opposed to her was foreign to him. She did not resemble any of the Numenoreans he had seen at all. Her features were pretty, to be sure. But they were the kind of pretty which held that otherly quality to them that Arwen’s did, and like the elven lady, she too appeared young even as her manner and expressions betrayed a maturity of centuries if not eons. Like Arwen’s alabaster skin, hers too glowed in the light of the moon and stars as if kin to them. Her long hair tied back neatly in a pony tail was a golden blond with reddish highlights that could be seen even in the moonlight. The woman wore dark colored denim jeans and jacket which did little to hide her lithe yet athletic form. And then as she turned her head at one of the Lady’s remarks and walked in a small circle as if in disbelief, he saw the distinct tips of the other woman’s pointed ears.

_She’s another elf!_ He realized with a start.

Of course, the Lady Arwen had told him before there were yet a few others of her kind who had remained in Middle Earth and hadn’t gone into the True West, but he hadn’t expected to see them having been led to believe in their rarity. And this woman looked to be a _pure-blooded_ elf that he could see in a way Arwen, who shared human blood through her father, was not. As she moved in response to the Lady’s words, graceful like a dancer, and gestured with her hands as she spoke freely with the matriarch of Cerin Amroth, he noticed another detail. She was missing two fingers from her feminine left hand, the ring and the pinkie fingers.

He wondered what terrible injury could have severed those fingers, and what kind of evil thing could have brought itself to mar such a true, pure beauty as hers was. He instantly hated whatever or whoever had injured her, and hoped that such a foul thing had met its just end.

They continued their discussion for several minutes more, and the newcomer took a stance of understanding and obeisance before the Lady Arwen, not just nodding, but bowing her head in answer to what were clearly instructions. Jim then felt ashamed of himself for continuing his voyeuristic intrusion into their conversation and he quietly backed away and left them be.

He retraced his steps, intending to head back to the cottage and turn in for the night. Instead, he found himself in one of the gardens, sitting on a stone bench in silence contemplating all he had experienced. The presence of the Elvish newcomer only added to the list of extraordinary occurrences which had happened to him over the past two weeks of his life. The moonlight overhead continued to shine down on him, eclipsing all the stars about it, and bathing the entire property in its silvery light as though the Greek goddess Artemis was smiling down protectively over the ancient clan of faithful lords and kings.

“ _Tilion_.” He corrected his thought verbally. “In Tolkien, it would be the maia _Tilion_ of the Silver Bow, brother of the maiden _Arien_ who carries the sun aloft during the day.”

“Indeed it is.” Came a woman’s voice whom he recognized in accented English. “They have carried their burdens for millennia.”

He looked in the direction of the voice and immediately stood up in respect as the Lady Arwen approached him, alone as she walked down the path towards him.

“Lady Arwen.” He said, stammering just a little. “How are you this evening? I mean…”

“You mean after the conversation I just had which was meant to be private.” She finished for him with a knowing look. “Among other gifts, my people were blessed with excellent hearing, and you breath quite loudly, Mr. Frudd.” She chided him.

“I-” He didn’t know how to answer having been caught. “I’m sorry, Lady Arwen. I hadn’t meant to, I was just out for a walk and… and…”

“And it is what it is. Please, sit down.” She told him without any hint of a scolding.

He obeyed, and she joined him on the bench in the moonlight which really only made her seem more lovely and otherworldly. His heart nearly stopped as she sat next to him, and it was only the maternal expression in her eyes which bore the wisdom of countless ages which brought him back to his senses. But it served to reinforce the reason why she had been surnamed _Undomiel_ , “Evenstar.”

“We all appear to be on the last leg of this quest together, but I fear this may be the most difficult leg of all, and we must now all of us be on our guard.” She told him. “I have just been informed there is a threat stalking the ring which has not been seen in this land since the destruction of Mount Doom, and it is a danger unlike any of you have ever faced before.”

Her words carried an ominous quality to them as she spoke them.

“What kind of threat?” Jim asked.

“A _nazgul_ is hunting you.” She told him, her tone serious and grave. “One which has never been seen before now. The seriousness of our plight now cannot be overstated.”

“What?” Jim asked in surprise, knowing exactly what kind of creature she was describing, the very word conjuring images of a grim reaper on a black horse into his mind. “How? Where did it come from?”

“I do not know, and neither does my agent.” Arwen responded. “But she tracked it all the way to the borders of Cerin Amroth where it was turned back by Nenya’s protective power.”

“You mean it’s out there right now? It’s trying to find a way in?” He asked, fear rising within him.

“It is.” Arwen told him. “But do not fear. As long as you remain within this estate, you and the ring are safe, James Frudd. No evil can cross into Cerin Amroth.”

He felt a relief at her words, but it was short lived as he began to understand her true meaning. “But if the ring is to be destroyed, it can’t stay here, can it? And neither can I.”

“That is true.” she replied, looking directly into his eyes. “Consider this carefully, Mr. Frudd. I would offer you the protection of my estate for as long as you wish.”

_For as long as I wished?_ He repeated her words in his mind. “You mean, if I wanted to, I could stay here and never leave? You’re offering me permanent sanctuary?”

“In order to protect you and see that the ring never falls into enemy hands, yes.” The Lady replied. “I understand you have a love of books, and our library and its works have been in need of someone to give them more care than they have received as of late.”

Jim did consider her offer. Very, very carefully. It was like some glorious dream had suddenly become a reality and offered to him on a silver platter! He need never leave! He need never return to the life without the extraordinariness which had been thrust upon him as of late! Every fiber of his being wanted to say “Yes!” That he would gladly and wholeheartedly tear out his own eyes for such an opportunity.

And yet… As he returned Arwen’s serious gaze, and looked into the elf woman’s own eyes, he saw decades and centuries there. He saw the pain of loss, and he saw that there would be consequences, painful consequences if he selfishly chose the gift she was offering him, and he remembered her words from earlier in the day.

“Who were you speaking of, earlier in the day, Lady Arwen? Who could we set free with the destruction of the ring?” He asked.

Arwen took a breath and sighed before she answered. “One about whom I spoke with you before. One who has suffered the torment of a thousand lifetimes. One whose spirit I would finally see given peace and set free. Celebrimbor the craftsman.”

“Celebrimbor, the one who forged the Elven rings without Sauron’s knowledge.” Jim responded, remembering his previous conversation with her in the chapel. “You told me before that he was tied to it somehow.”

“His shade, through a willing host, forged the ring of power which now sits on a chain at your breast, Mr. Frudd.” She continued, nodding in affirmation. “A ring which was perfect, and uncorrupted with Sauron’s power. And a ring to which Celebrimbor’s own spirit has since been tied, and unable to leave the world and find peace in the halls of Mandos. My agent has reported to me that last she encountered him, he was still roaming the lands to the south and east, his soul confused and lost. He begged her recently to destroy the ring he made in his folly, as he has done for millennia since being released from Sauron’s grip. He can find no rest, no peace, no end to his suffering of mind and heart.”

“And if the ring isn’t destroyed, he continues like that. Lost in a kind of eternal damnation.” Jim said, understanding.

“Yes.” Arwen confirmed. “He was forbidden from moving on, first by Sauron’s curse upon him, and then by his own misguided hand in creating the second ring. It is an injustice that I have long wished to correct on his behalf.”

Jim considered this, wondering what kind of hell the man’s spirit had endured because he had dared to defy Sauron in creating the Elvish rings in Eregion in the Second Age. She was right, it wasn’t fair. And even what little he knew about the creation of the second ring of domination told him that Celebrimbor had only done so in order to atone for his mistake in forging the other rings of power alongside the Dark Lord.

Another thought about the power of the rings came to him as well as he further remembered their previous conversation in the chapel. “If this ring is destroyed, won’t Nenya lose its power too? Cerin Amroth will lose its protection and this place will be exposed to the outside world.”

“It will.” She confirmed for him. “As will the rings of the nazgul. They will all finally become truly powerless as was intended by Frodo’s journey into Mordor, and they too will finally be laid to rest.”

“And you’re okay with this, my Lady?” He asked her, sincerely concerned about the loss of her refuge.

“I have lived in Middle Earth for many ages. I have seen the empires and civilizations of men rise and fall, and rise again. I have considered this question often, Mr. Frudd. I believe that after this task is completed, it may finally be time for Arwen Undomiel to join her people in the Undying Lands after all.” She answered. “My children are nearly spent, and I have little guidance left to give them in the age that now is. I have seen neither my father nor mother nor brothers for many, many eons and I find myself longing for their company once more. It is well that I do this.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you’re placing your own fate, as well as the fate of Celebrimbor’s ghost, and even the entire world, into my hands. You’re giving me such a choice as this to make? To stay here and let everything continue on as it is, or to destroy the ring and take the risk that it might fall into the hands of the very enemy it was created to destroy?” He asked, trying and failing to wrap his mind around the incredible choice she was giving him.

“Yes, Mr. Frudd. You now understand the stakes involved.” She told him. “I will not, I cannot ask of you anything which you are not willing to give. I would not see you harmed through any order or command of mine. It must be your choice, and yours alone.”

“I-” Jim was struck dumb and couldn’t answer just then.

He stood up, and walked around in a tight circle in front of her seeking the words to say, wanting to give the _right_ answer. He wanted to make the _right_ choice. There was no guarantee that if they left the safety of Cerin Amroth that the nazgul would not find them and take the ring. At the same point in time, if there was even a chance of finally putting everything to right, shouldn’t he take it even if it could mean his own life would be in danger? Wasn’t that what all the heroes of the mythologies he studied did? But he was no hero. He knew that to his core. He was no Hercules. He was no Cu Chulainn, Achilles, or even the humble Frodo Baggins. He was just Jim Frudd, book shop owner from Goole, England. He wasn’t the man to go on adventures and save the day unless it was through a computer avatar. At least, that’s who he had been before finding the silver engraved ring in the water of the River Ouse.

Something within him silently formed the Elvish word, _Eru_ , on his lips, not in an irreverent fashion, but as a single worded prayer and plea for help to make the _right_ choice, if not the easy one. If he was to be perfectly honest with himself, if he were to dig down deep, he knew what that choice was, and what it needed to be whether he was himself a hero or not. But as he came to this conclusion, his very limbs began to shake in protest and fear at what it might mean.

“ _Eru help me._ ” He mouthed silently, the religious imagery from the chapel coming to his mind, as well as the power which had been displayed at Monte Brasil. “ _I can’t do this, I don’t have the strength. But I’ve seen what Your power can do. Help me make this right for everyone._ ”

The Lady Arwen remained silent, allowing him his internal struggle without any further influence from her. She respected his deliberations, and remained out of them.

Finally, his limbs stopped shaking, and a peace settled over him. He knew what the right decision was, and what he had to do. His internal deliberations were over.

He turned to face her, hardly believing the words coming from his own lips as he said them, “I will take the ring to Aule’s Forge, my Lady, or I will die trying.”

A sad smile spread over Arwen’s face at his declaration. “I thank you for your courage, Mr. Frudd. I would not have blamed you for refusing such a task.” She then stood up and, facing him once more, she said, “Once again, you will have all the resources at my disposal made available to you. And it is time I introduced you to my agent whom you saw me with earlier. I believe her assistance will prove invaluable to you against the nazgul who tracks you.”

“Your agent, my Lady, who is she?” he asked her.

“She has been in my employ since my grandmother left these lands for the True West, and had been an acquaintance of mine prior to that from our childhood.” Arwen told him. “Her name is Eltariel, and she was the second person to bear Celebrimbor’s ring.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Outside of Cerin Amroth…

The moment he attempted to cross onto the property it was like someone had doused him with gasoline and lit it with a match. The pain Dimitry experienced was unbearable and he threw himself backwards across the invisible boundary to escape it. He spent the entire night testing its limits before conceding defeat. Whatever unseen force surrounded the estate which he knew lay beyond the pain inducing limit was as if someone had taken the sun’s rays and magnified them beyond all reason. The property itself, as he could guess, was fairly large, maybe on the order of several square kilometers, but he couldn’t be sure. The perimeter of it was surrounded by thick trees which forbade prying eyes from looking any deeper. His best estimate was that its protection was circular around the estate, radiating from a central point within. There was, however. At least one weakness he discovered right away. There was only one road going into it from the northwest. Only one way in by automobile meant only one way out by automobile as well.

He was also certain that this was to where his quarry had traveled. The strange scent which he had been following was emanating from within the property like a heavy perfume. The reports he had received from his phantasmal spies had also confirmed that this is where the silver BMW had been seen entering and leaving.

After he had determined the approximate size and what strengths and weaknesses the estate held so far, he relayed the GPS coordinates of it back to the brotherhood with his mobile with the request to know who owned the expansive property on the border between Germany and the Czech Republic. The answer was several hours in coming, by which time he had been forced to find shelter away from the breaking dawn of the sun. Fortunately for him, it was not the only heavily forested area nearby, and there were other properties, some of them with empty buildings. Some of them not so empty… at first.

The deaths of the boy and his parents registered with no emotion to him. They were an inconvenience, at worst costing him ammunition for his pistol. More so for their guard dog. But the choking fear which had engulfed them upon seeing him… He took far more pleasure in that than he would have thought possible. It was intoxicating and empowering. Better than any stimulant he could have imbibed. He left their bodies to rot where they had fallen, the scent and sight of their deaths feeding him in some way he didn’t understand. His only concern might have been the attention they would have drawn had they been seen from the road, but there was a tall hedge which prevented unwanted eyes.

Strangely, they left no shades behind for him to command, but that too was a mere inconvenience. There had been ample spirits in torment within reach to watch the comings and goings of the protected estate for him. This was, after all, Europe, and the toll of the wars and atrocities which had raged across its landscape had left innumerable dead who could move on to neither heaven nor hell if there were such places. Dimitry had more than his pick of phantasmal agents, just as the grandmasters had given him full authority within the brotherhood to command whom he chose how he chose.

When the details of the property in question came back to him, it was found to be owned by a woman by the unusual name of “Arwen en Aran” (which sounded both foreign to Germany, yet strangely familiar though he could not place from where), and it had been held by the en Arans for hundreds of years having been passed down within the family, first through male family members, and then when the property laws were modernized in the twentieth century, it was passed down through three generations of women, all with the given name of “Arwen.” The en Aran family, as the information that was dug up from online sources told him, had quietly paid their property taxes for as far back as there were records available. There were power lines going into the property which could be used to his advantage, as well as telephone lines and fiber optic cables, but no water utilities that any records could show. All the latter meant was they had a private well on the property that was still in use. A few phone numbers were associated with that name, but no other addresses, no court records, no apparent driver’s license, or even an identification card. There were however a number of other persons associated with this address of this location, dozens of birth records stretching back as far as such records were kept, but oddly no records of death. Not even for the previous generations of owner with the name “Arwen en Aran.” Most of those persons had the family name of _en Aran_ , though there were other surnames like _Konig_ , _Basil_ , and _Regis_ on paperwork listing this location as their residence.

There was more, but he had seen enough. He knew the men for whom he searched were there without needing _all_ the data which an internet background check could provide. Sooner or later, they would leave the property again. They would need to leave it, he was certain—no he would _make certain_ of it. When they did, the brotherhood would be waiting for them.

Dimitry made the call to bring his own flesh and blood agents to bear. They would surround the property and watch it. They would lay siege to it if they had to. The ring was there. He was certain of it. Soon, it would be in their rightful possession once again.

* * *

Within Cerin Amroth later…

It was the evening before the small company was to leave for Frankfurt. The sun had just gone down and all had been quiet despite Arwen’s ominous warning about what lay lurking just outside the property. Jim had just finished supper at Estel’s kitchen table, the latter man having made a reasonable attempt at English bangers and mash with gravy for his British friends. But the English bibliophile’s mind was not on his food.

Jim had returned to Estel’s cottage the night before to find his two companions passed out on a recliner and a couch from either the late hour or the pilsner, or possibly both. There was also an open bottle of cognac and two glasses on the coffee table next to them. Rather than try and wake them, and seeing there was nothing to be done about the dire news to which the Lady Arwen was not already attending, Jim attempted to retire to his own bed. Instead, however, he lay awake nearly all night, and what little sleep he entered into was filled with dark images of riders on black horses wearing black cowls and robes whose faces could not be seen. They were chasing him, Sam, and Estel at first through a city like London or Brussels, and then through a dark forest. Needless to say, the dreams were not pleasant.

Of course he knew what dangers the _nazgul_ , the ring-wraiths, posed. Even if he hadn’t read through nearly all of Tolkien’s works and the additional material published after his death, and even if he hadn’t encountered the massively powerful creatures of darkness in digital form in _The Lord of the Rings Online_ , the images of the fear inducing “death knights” of Sauron had been made frighteningly real by the films that nearly the entire civilized world had viewed at least once (and himself more times than he could remember). _Everyone_ knew what a nazgul was. And he himself, James Frudd of Goole, England, had the unwanted honor of being hunted by one in the _real_ world.

This was no game where he could resurrect if he died. This was no story in black and white on a page. He had no idea how this was going to end for him, for Sam, or even for the entire world.

As the realization of the danger he now faced to his own person sank in, the terror at the prospect was only mitigated by the brief introduction he had been given that night to the beautiful elf woman whom Arwen had been speaking with. She was polite, courtly even, and there was a light and a goodness about the high-elven woman which just seemed to radiate from her, even as there was a sadness and a depth to her eyes that he knew he could never fathom. Her eyes had seen things no mortal’s had.

But more than this comfort at her mere presence, there was the knowledge he had been given that her original assignment in the service of the Lady Galadriel was to hunt and kill the nine nazgul. It was something she had done over and over again during her long centuries patrolling Mordor before Sauron’s ring was destroyed. It was her profession, so to speak, and she had much practice in it. Though it was also one she eventually gave up on prior to the last war of the ring in the Third Age because the task proved sysiphean at best. She would destroy one, and it would eventually take a corporeal form once more. Their existences were tied to that ring of power, and as long as it existed, they would continue. Her experience with them was extensive, but even she hadn’t suspected that those ties of existence and power would transfer to Celebrimbor’s ring once Sauron’s had been ended.

When dawn broke the next day, Jim had given up on sleep and went and made himself coffee in the kitchen in the attempt to compensate for his weariness. Being a good Englishman, his preference tended to run towards a stout tea rather than the stronger beverage, but the night had been so restless, his preferred tea just wasn’t going to do. Adding cream and two lumps of sugar to make it tolerable, he began to sip. In spite of the higher caffeine levels, the Gevalia Kaffe signature blend did not help nearly as much as he would have liked.

He was sitting at the kitchen table still sipping his coffee pensively when Sam stumbled in holding his head as though it was splitting in two followed by Estel in a similar, but less intensive state. Briefly he wondered if it was because of Estel’s Numenorean constitution, or because Sam just imbibed that much more. Either might have been possible.

Jim’s unusual wakefulness stirred them out of their hangovers long enough for him to relate to them what had transpired on his stroll the night before. The new information completely removed their alcohol induced fuzziness altogether, but only intensified their headaches it seemed.

That entire day had then been spent reviewing everything they knew about the ring wraiths and their weaknesses. Between what Tolkien had recorded and the elf woman Eltariel’s experiences, they began to form a plan. Sam had inquired about Arwen’s encounter with them as portrayed in the Peter Jackson films, but it was the Lady Arwen herself who had to tactfully explain that she had not been the one present to assist the company to Rivendell those thousands of years before, but Glorfindel, an ancient and dear friend. Sam then held his tongue sheepishly. He had read Tolkien’s books, he had just forgotten that detail.

The nazgul could only travel as fast as regular men. In ancient times, the creatures were just as reliant on mounted travel as everyone else. In modern times, it would need a vehicle of some sort. There was some thought they feared to cross water, but Eltariel debated that not having seen any real evidence of it. Their chief weapon was their ability to induce panic, and seemingly rip the courage right out of a man’s heart. Light was their chief and best weapon against them: light, fire, and things blessed or holy. These things would induce pain in the wraith. The ring wraiths could not operate well if at all in full sunlight. Thus it was determined that they would leave for Frankfurt the next day just after dawn to maximize the amount of daylight they would have. The weather forecast called for some clouds but the sun would otherwise be shining. This in and of itself might impair the ring-wraith’s movements enough for them to make it to the airport safely without being tracked, and be on the plane bound for the Americas before it even knew what had happened. As the sun went down, there was an air of cautious optimism at their chances.

And then the power went out across Cerin Amroth just as the last bit of sun dipped below the horizon.

Immediately, backup generators went on to power the pumps for the water well and emergency lighting for those cottages still occupied as well as Arwen’s residence in the trees at the center of the estate. No one thought much of it at first. It happened on the rare occasion, but Germany’s power grid had become increasingly more stable and reliable and recent blackouts only lasted a few minutes. Ten or fifteen at most.

The fifteen minute mark passed and became twenty, and patience became mild concern. Arwen, as the property owner, went to make a call to DREWAG, the local utility company that serviced that area from her landline telephone which she still kept in her tree loft residence from decades before when they were first installed. That was when she discovered that the landline telephone was dead, and her mild concern became something more. She made the call to the power company from her personal mobile, a somewhat dated flip phone that she preferred for the lack of GPS features that would allow anyone to locate the person using it such as modern smart phones possessed. In fluent German she informed them of their outage and was informed they would send someone soon to investigate, but had received no other complaints from neighboring residences in the area.

“My Lady!” Eltariel had addressed her just as she got off the phone with the utility company. The elf woman had just entered her residence hurriedly from the steps leading up to it, her expression urgent. She had been watching the perimeter of the grounds that night for any potential incursions. “The road out of Cerin Amroth has been blocked at the main highway! There are men with an evil look surrounding the grounds!”

“What?” Arwen responded with surprise and confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Just outside the line of protection! There are automobiles, many of them, parked from one side of the road between the trees to the other! It has been completely blocked off! And there are armed men in the woods beyond Nenya’s power!” Her agent explained.

Arwen paused for a minute pensively, digesting this information and calculating her response. Then she calmly picked up her mobile phone once more and dialed a three digit number, _110_.

“Who are you calling, my Lady?” Eltariel asked, not understanding who she could possibly be telephoning at that point.

“ _Die_ _P_ _oli_ _zei_.” Arwen responded in German before connecting with the emergency number she dialed. “We have armed intruders who have violated our property, blocked our access road, cut our power and phone lines, and they may be a threat to our neighbors as well. Please send officers.” She explained, and gave the address of their somewhat remote property to the police dispatch officer who agreed to send help right away. “ _Danke_.” She told the dispatch officer as she ended the call.

“My Lady, I don’t understand.” Eltariel told her, her expression incredulous at the Elven noblewoman’s response, when Arwen left off the call. “At your word, your children and I can deal with the armed men ourselves. There is no need to risk our exposure.”

“And no doubt that is what the nazgul expects. It seeks to draw out our best fighters beyond the ring’s protection with these, and then what? Reveal itself and whatever horrors it may have command of during the hours of darkness? No doubt also its servants are responsible for our electrical and phone outage, seeking to truly isolate us believing that, terrorized, _we_ will not react like any other good citizen would. For that reason the wraith will not expect a simple mobile call to the local authorities. The police will deal with the evil men once they have assessed their threat.” Arwen explained her reasoning. “It is the nazgul however that is behind them that is the true enemy we must be wary of. Fear is its greatest weapon.”

“But what about the police, the world, discovering this place?” Her agent asked. “Discovering all that was built here?”

“Nenya still protects Cerin Amroth as long as it has power, Eltariel. No evil will pass into our borders at this moment in time. There have been others of mankind over the centuries, few to be sure, who have visited as need has arisen. We would not have electricity or telephone service otherwise. We have been no more damaged for it up til now. Those who manage to notice anything which might set us apart will likely believe us merely eccentric and no more. Once the ring is destroyed, the world may discover this place and the history it contains regardless. It is a risk which must be taken if we are to bring these things to an end.” The Lady Arwen told her agent.

Her words were true enough, the implications of them notwithstanding. She herself had grown accustomed to various ways of hiding those features of her appearance which marked her as one of the Eldar race so she could move freely within a world dominated by the second born children of Iluvatar. Frequently, she was mistaken for a woman of Scandinavian descent. If the police did see them, it was likely they wouldn’t see anything other than what they might expect to see. The elf woman then saw the reasoning, and understood the logic of her Lady’s decision to do the “normal” thing and call the police upon the appearance of their armed intruders.

“What then are your instructions for me, my Lady?” Eltariel asked her.

“Go to the ring bearer, and keep him safe at all costs. From here on, do not let him out of your sight until the ring is destroyed. Ensure that this happens. We may have to alter our plan for delivering the ring to Aule’s Forge because of this complication, but we will see it done.” Arwen told her.

“Yes, my Lady.” Eltariel told her and then went immediately to carry our her orders.

She found the book shop owner with his friend in Estel’s cottage that evening. The three men had just finished their supper when the power had gone out. Within moments of her arrival, and before she could explain, they all heard the tell tale sirens of the German _polizei_ not far off towards the entrance road. The next thing they heard were the sounds of gunshots from both pistols and the heavier sounds of automatic rifles.

“What is happening?” Estel asked the full blooded elf woman who then explained the situation and his grandmother’s response.

An explosion was then heard directly overhead, though they did not feel its effects. A second one followed after it. Both detonated high above Cerin Amroth unable to penetrate Nenya’s protective covering.

“That was mortar fire over our heads!” Estel announced, recognizing the sound of the explosions. “The brotherhood has abandoned all subtlety and moved to all out war!”

“What? How did they find us here of all places?” Sam asked as more explosions detonated above them. “Jim, you didn’t put on the ring again, did you?” He then turned and asked his friend with a hint of accusation.

“No! Of course not! Not since Monte Brasil! It’s been on its chain the whole time!” He protested.

Gunfire continued in the near distance as even more ordinance made itself known overhead. Within thirty minutes the whirling blades of both news and police helicopters were thumping overhead making themselves known as they actively followed the extraordinary and violent events transpiring on the ground.

The other Numenorean kinsmen who still resided at Cerin Amroth were themselves out of their homes seeking to know what was happening around them. Most had lived through many conflicts, and themselves knew that none of it could touch them within the protection of the Elvish ring which their grandmother wielded. Still, they came out of their homes to witness the explosive fire which had engulfed their night sky above them and heard the sounds of the rapidly increasing number of sirens of the German police and the gunfire which they returned towards the highway. Father Adalbert, being the eldest of them next to the Lady Arwen herself left his parsonage and opened the chapel where he chose to spend the night in prayer before the altar for their safety. He was joined by several others of his kin and brethren.

Still others of the residents of Cerin Amroth, both men and women, armed themselves with weapons they kept, preferring the silent and lethal bow, knife, and sharp swords; traditional weapons which would keep their positions concealed as opposed to loud and violent firearms, and with which they were proficient. The blood of the Dunedain rangers and the elven lords from whom they descended still flowed strong within these and they were not untried in warfare. These chose to patrol the perimeter within the safety of Nenya’s protection to keep watch, their own innate skills at moving silently and swiftly through woods keeping them well hidden from sight from either the evil men laying seige or the police who had responded. They made use of well hidden platforms in the trees around the property. As the fight around the perimeter raged on and both German police officer and brotherhood agent came close to their positions, they kept silent guard over those who had come to help. Silent and lethal Dunedain arrows appeared from nowhere to down the terrorists who might have otherwise gained the upper hand on the life of a policeman on the opposite side of Nenya’s protective barrier.

The combat outside the protective barrier raged on for hours and fires broke out among the trees towards the highway, the smoke from them rising high into the air. The view of the helicopters which were attempting to oversee the event had already been obscured by the dense tree cover of the estate. The smoke obscured that view even more from the happenings on the ground.

Jim, Sam, Estel, and Eltariel remained within the cottage and upon the elf woman’s insistence did not leave its confines to either fight or flee, but they took protective measures nonetheless. The Eldar woman was already carrying twin short swords which looked both well used and incredibly ancient, as well as a modern Glock sidearm under her jacket. The Numenorean man armed himself with a pistol for his shoulder holster, an AK-47 rifle from a private closet in the cottage pocketing extra clips, and the short swords he had previously retrieved from the train station in Brussels which hung on sheaths to his sides at his back. A recently made Kevlar vest appeared from some part of the Estel’s personal wardrobe and it went under his shirt. A second one was produced and given to Sam who had begun to ask where they had come from and then stopped, thinking better of the question.

When it came to Jim however, Estel handed him an entirely different protective piece of clothing, one that neither Sam nor Jim could have expected nor anticipated. “I do not have another vest in my possession here, but there is something else which should offer you good protection. Put this on under your clothes. You more than any of us must be protected this night.” Estel told him, handing him an article of clothing he had least expected to encounter.

He handed Jim a shirt which appeared to be made of finely wrought chain links formed from a lustrous white metal. In spite of its metallic weave, it was no heavier than a padded jacket. When Jim saw it, he very nearly couldn’t believe what his mind was telling him.

“Is that…?” He asked, taking the chain shirt with an almost reverent awe.

“It is an old family heirloom.” Estel replied, tightening the straps on his own body armor before donning his own overshirt and jacket once more. “It came into the hands of my ancestors after the former ring bearers left for the True West, and as the direct heirs of Elessar and Eldarion, it passed to my father and then to me. I believe the shirt’s original owners, however, would want you to have it… along with this.”

Estel then passed him what looked like a dagger with a foot long blade in a black sheath. The dagger’s hilt was finely wrought with elegant leaf shaped designs inlaid, and the double edged blade itself bore similarly elegant engravings as from an artist more than a blacksmith.

“I hope you will never have to use it, but it served its previous masters very well indeed.” The Numenorean told him as Jim fixed the dagger’s sheath to his belt. “They are among the very few treasures that have survived from those ancient times.”

Both honored and frightened by their mere existence, Jim obeyed Estel’s instructions and donned the mithril shirt before replacing his own buttoned down. According to Tolkien, that very shirt was valuable enough in its day to have purchased the entire country of the Shire with. That he was given such a priceless artifact as a physical protection against harm nearly made him faint.

“No blade, either edge or tip, can pierce it still, and I would not wager against its effectiveness against bullets though it has never been put to the test in that way.” Estel informed him.

“What about her?” Sam then asked, gesturing to Eltariel. “Shouldn’t she be armored too?”

“I have my own protection already.” The elf woman answered him, and leaving it without any further explanation.

“Right then.” Sam responded. “So what do we do now? Even once the bad guys are cleared out by the police, assuming they are, and the firefight dies down it’ll be well into tomorrow before the road’s unblocked and they stop asking folks questions. They won’t just let any of us leave, not after this mess. We’ll miss our plane for sure.”

The same thought had been on the other three minds as well. Sam was only the first one to verbalize it. Taking the BMW to Frankfurt was no longer an option if they wanted to arrive in time for their flight to Costa Rica.

Then Eltariel surprised them, addressing the two Englishmen as she asked, “Do either of you know how to ride a motorcycle?”

Both Sam and Jim looked at her questioningly in confusion, slowly shaking their heads, while Estel’s expression appeared to register understanding of her plan along with no little concern. “There are the foot trails through the woods, but we could not wait until dawn, not with this many people surrounding the grounds. If we go too soon, we risk being hit by gunfire or running into our nazgul pursuer, and if we wait too long, we would be stopped by the police themselves trying to sort out this entire mess.”

“No, we couldn’t. It would be a risk no matter what. But unless you have another idea…?” The elf asked him.

“No, dammit, I don’t.” Estel swore, disliking the position they had been forced into.

“Er… Motorcycles? What motorcycles?” Jim asked uncertainly.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

In the woods surrounding Cerin Amroth…

All the decisions which led up to that moment, as well as most of the rest of his life, flashed in front of James Frudd’s closed eyes as he hung on tightly to the beautiful elf woman’s surprisingly taut muscular waist for his dear life. It might have been arousing if the elf woman in question wasn’t busy navigating a black BMW R1200GS motorcycle outfitted with offroading tires through burning smoke and the sounds of a warzone along footpaths through woods which were clearly not made for motorcycles in any way, shape, or form. They were followed by Estel who was similarly gripped by Sam. While he could not see what she was navigating through, he could feel every root, every hole, and every rock under the motorbike’s tires. As it stood, he was simply trying not to fall off, be shot by stray gunfire, or generally die in any way shape or form.

For reasons which went without explanation in that moment, the Numenoreans maintained at least half a dozen such motorcycles in the estate’s commercial sized garage, along with several cars of various makes and models. When Eltariel and Estel had led Sam and Jim to the garage to show them their new means of transport to the airport in Frankfurt, there was a feeling of both fear and excitement upon seeing them. Neither Jim nor Sam had ridden a motorcycle before, and upon that knowledge only two were deemed required for their purposes by those two who had. The elf woman had insisted that Jim ride with her as she tossed him a helmet with a visor from a shelf nearby. She quickly explained that there were wireless radios in the helmets and they could talk to one another while on the road.

At that moment however, he did not much feel like conversation, and she was silent as she focused on her task of keeping him alive.

Jim once hazarded a peak at what was happening and quickly regretted it, shutting his eyes fast. He saw flames in the woods which strangely stopped at a certain line of trees and would not burn further. He saw men in leather jackets as well as those in police uniforms shooting and being shot at. Most personally frightening of all in the brief glimpse he got, he saw that Eltariel was riding with no lights whatsoever. He had no idea how she was able to see what path there was. The smell of spent gunpowder mixed with burning tree and leaf smoke was everywhere.

The ride through the hellish scene took what felt like an eternity to the bookshop owner until the motorcycle leveled out and it felt as though they were on flat pavement. The motorcycle increased its speed exponentially. After a few minutes, Jim could hear Eltariel’s voice through the headset in the helmet.

“Are you alright, Mr. Frudd?” She asked him, real concern in her voice. “You weren’t hurt in all of that, were you?”

“No.” he answered, mentally checking the various parts of his body for anything painful. “I mean, I don’t think so. Just a touch queasy from being shaken up a bit is all.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. Estel? Sam? Are you still with us? Are you alright?” She then asked, knowing that their helmets were on the same frequency as hers and Jim’s.

There was a silence for a few seconds, and then Estel’s voice came up. “We’re right behind you. Slow down a little and we can pull up to your side.”

Eltariel complied and the two motorbikes continued down the road side by side together.

“That was some ride back there, wasn’t it?” Jim heard Sam’s voice ask. “There were a few times I thought we’d be caught by either the bad guys, the police, or both! I swear I felt a bullet pass just next to my shoulder!”

“A stray bullet hit one of our mirrors, but everything else appears to be intact. Ourselves included.” Estel continued.

“I think I’ve got bruises on my arms from hugging Estel’s back so tight. That sword he brought isn’t all that accommodating for this kind of thing.” Sam added.

The sword in question to which Sam was referring was the one Jim and he had seen being gripped by the statue of Estel’s ancestor, Aragorn II; Anduril. It had been Eltariel’s idea to retrieve it because of the enemy they faced. How they would bring it with them on board the plane to Costa Rica or store it at the airport was still unclear. But the concern in the heat of the moment had been just _getting to_ the airport with a ring-wraith in pursuit. It was approaching midnight when they started the engines of the motorcycles, and there were still five or six hours of darkness left to them in which they could be potentially hunted by a creature that thrived in it. As priceless as the artifact was for many, many reasons, at the moment its greatest value laid in the inherent enchantments laid on it by the elves who reforged it from the shards of the dwarven forged blade _Narsil._ Out of respect for his great ancestor, Estel had been hesitant to take it up, but he understood the reason and believed his grandmother would though he had no time to ask for permission. Under the circumstances, he hoped King Elessar would understand as well. The scabbard in which it was housed on the Numenorean’s back, gifted by the elf lord Celeborn in the Third Age and without any trace of decay or corruption in spite of its extreme antiquity, had remained in Estel’s cottage among the other heirlooms his family held from that time period as though it too had just been waiting to be taken up once more.

“They’ll heal, Sam.” Jim told him. The Englishman then asked, “How long until Frankfurt, again?”

“At this speed, two or three hours, give or take.” Eltariel replied. “The motorcycles are considerably faster than the car would have been. Once we get there, we’ll find a place to hide them and Anduril and lie low until its time to make our way to the airport. With any luck, we’ll be in the air before the wraith knows what has happened.”

“Damn.” Jim heard Estel swear through the helmet radio. “I think you spoke too soon, _edhelvain_.”

_Edhelvain_ , or “elven-fair” was the appelation Estel had chosen to use in addressing Eltariel. Oddly to Jim’s way of thinking, she did not seem to mind it, and even gave a slight smile as though it were a private joke when he used it. Jim did not know if they had ever met prior to the current events, though it was reasonable to assume that was a possibility. However subtle or not so subtle Estel’s attentions might have been towards the woman, Jim had noticed in her eyes that they were not rejected, and occasionally returned with a warm playfulness.

“What? Why?” Eltariel asked.

“We have a tail behind us. It looks like a police motorcycle.” He returned.

“Is it one of the German policemen?” She asked. “Can you tell?”

“Not unless they ride with all of their lights shut off at night, _edhelvain_.” The Numenorean returned.

“ _Orchsaw!_ ” Eltariel spat, looking in her own rear-view mirrors with her better Elvish vision.

The Englishman wasn’t fluent in Sindarin by any means, but he was reasonably certain his protector had just sworn in her native tongue with the tone of disgust she used. Briefly he wondered if Tolkien knew Elves could or would use profanity when the appropriate occasion for it arose.

“We’ve got to lose it somehow! Keep up, _edhellon_!” The elf woman continued as she hit the throttle on the bike even harder. Estel followed suit with his and Sam’s motorcycle as they sped down the German highway, both of them searching for any way to lose the deathly grim monster pursuing them.

* * *

Dimitry’s quarry increased their speed in front of him. He did the same. Whether or not they knew the police models of motorcycle could be pushed faster than the consumer versions was a brief point in his mind before he focused once more on the task at hand.

He had not participated in the full out assault on the protected property. He had only orchestrated it and watched it play out. There were thousands of members in the _Ordnung des Rings_ in Germany. Those disenfranchised by the influx of refugees and minorities in their country, those convinced by hard working Russian conspiracy theorists about Jewish atrocities, and those willing to do anything to feel like they belonged in a society that strove to look past or ignore their country’s previous strength and greatness. All found a purpose and order in their brotherhood. He had called on over two hundred of them to appear that night and prepare to storm the property on his orders. The mortars were not his idea, having been brought by some “over eager” Aryans, but they served their purpose of creating the chaos and panic he required.

They were peons, pawns, and mere cannon fodder he needed at that moment. Their lives meant nothing to him. Only the Fuhrer’s ring. Ever since he felt it pull to him, ever since that moment it drew him with a power and a force he had never before experienced, it continued to call to him, albeit weakly. He could feel its presence when it was close, and the closer it came the stronger he could feel it. He had known for certain the ring was on the property. He also knew that whatever protection lay over the remote estate, he could not reach it without being bombarded with severe burning pain.

Dimitry had rightly concluded that this was due to his new “condition.” But what about someone not so afflicted? Would they have the same reaction?

Frustratingly, they did. As soon as the first man crossed the invisible line he crumpled over in pain and had to claw his way back, dragging himself along the ground. The second and third men he ordered in from the safety of the darkened residence nearby before the sun went down had similar results. It was clear the simplest approach was not to be had.

He thought through what the invisible boundary might be. He had heard of microwave or light based weapons being developed. He had heard rumors of sound based weapons. Neither of these would be visible either. Whatever the source of it however, it was clear from this and from the background search on the property that those who resided beyond the line of protection did not want to be disturbed, or perhaps even discovered at all.

He ordered his men armed and spread out around the property, giving clearance to set up the mortars and any other ordinance they had brought with them. If there was an invisible fence around the property, it had to run on electricity. Cutting the power and phone lines would isolate them and remove their protection. His men could overrun the property, kill everyone there, and he could retrieve the ring before anyone knew what was happening.

He had not counted on the local police arriving. Neither had he counted on the damnable protective barrier still being up even after the power had been cut. Both however became fortuitous in his mind as the events unfolded and what looked like half of Germany’s entire police force arrived around the perimeter, engaging his men in an all out firefight. Mortars were launched, fires were started, and the fear all of it ensued fed him gloriously as he watched the entire affair from a safe distance across the road. Like all other forms of light, fire no longer agreed with him in any way.

It was from his vantage point near the highway that he saw the two motorcycles come out of the burning forest clearly in the comforting darkness. Their lights were off as they stole away in secret, and each held two riders as they reached the highway and headed west.

Just for a moment, he felt the ring’s presence more strongly before they increased their speed and began to disappear.

_Now, I have you._ He had thought to himself.

With neither fear, pity, nor remorse, Dimitry crossed the highway to where two German policemen were standing next to their motorcycles, weapons out and pointed into the burning woods. He drew his own sidearm from his holster and shot both men in the head without so much as a thought, then took one of the two motorcycles and set off down the road in pursuit of his prey, leaving the lights of the vehicle off for his own comfort and to make it more difficult for anyone else to see him.

As he caught up to them and drew closer, he noticed that one of the riders was not like the others where his new sight was concerned. That one appeared almost like a beacon, radiating with its own bright, internal light which became almost painful for him to look at. It was like trying to drive with someone shining a light in his eyes. Nevertheless, Dimitry realized, he could use that beacon of light the rider put forth to keep them in view and track them.

When they sped up, so did he, maxing out his own throttle. As he drew closer, he drew his sidearm again. His speedometer read “225 kph,” maxing out the bike’s capabilities. His prey was traveling only slightly slower. Any crash at those speeds would be fatal. There was no question. A bullet to their tires and it would be done. Then, he could pull around, collect the ring from the bodies, and be on his way.

It couldn’t have been simpler.

* * *

Twenty yards ahead of Dimitry…

The first bullet ricocheted off the concrete just in front of the motorcycle, sending up sparks half a second before the cycles shot past it. The second one hit behind them. The sounds of the gunshots rang out behind them.

“At this speed, is that thing crazy?” Estel asked into the headset. He considered pulling out his own weapon, except there was no way he could keep control of the motorcycle and turn to shoot behind him at the same time. Not unless he _wanted_ to kill both himself and Sam.

“It’s a nazgul. Sanity doesn’t come into consideration, _edhellon._ ” The elf woman replied.

Two more shots rang out and Eltariel felt something whiz past her arm in the opposite direction of the wind generated by their passing. Even as she masterfully kept control of the motorcycle, she kept count of the shots.

“I counted four.” She spoke into the headset. “What are the chances he’s using a nine round magazine do you think?”

“I don’t know, but we’ve got to put an end to this somehow.” Estel answered back. “We’re going to have to stand and fight.”

Two more shots rang out behind them briefly ending in more sparks on the road. The ring-wraith was easily visible now, and less than twenty yards behind them. The gun went silent at that point as the creature drew closer on its own stolen motorbike.

“In the darkness?” Eltariel asked. “It’s still hours from dawn. We stop now and we’ll be playing right into his hands.”

“Maybe. It depends on where we stop.” Estel replied. “Wait, this looks familiar. I have an idea. Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Eltariel asked even as she complied, turning off the main highway and onto a road south.

“If I’m right, somewhere where we can be safe for a few hours until the sun rises.” Estel replied. “I know this place.”

* * *

Behind them…

His prey slowed down and changed roads so quickly Dimitry shot past them and had to come around again to continue his pursuit. His hope for a neat resolution to the problem died when the magazine of his gun had been expended. He was also aware of how much fuel he was expending, and that the tank on the police motorcycle would not last forever. The same would be true of his quarry. Both parties were burning up their fuel tanks at a ridiculous rate at the speeds they were going. Eventually they would all run out of gasoline. Regardless, he would have them. There was nowhere they could go where he could not track them. Not at night, and not with how close he was. The light filled rider on the motorcycle continued to light up like a torch for him to follow.

His prey continued to head south towards the Czech border with Germany, and he wondered why they headed there. Did they expect to find some sort of refuge from him? If so, they would be sorely disappointed. There was nowhere in the dark they could run where he could not follow.

They sped past the signs which indicated the border crossing between the Czech Republic and Germany, now almost totally unwatched for the time of night. There wasn’t even a light on in the small token guardhouse. He followed steadily even as he watched the fuel gauge dip further towards the empty mark for the fuel expended. That would soon be a problem. Fuel gauges made for the German market gave no lenience on their warnings. “Empty” meant empty.

The two motorcycles ahead of him road straight into a small Czech town, and as he watched them they headed for the local church. He could have almost laughed in derision.

_Do they really think to hide from me there?_ He wondered in disbelief. _What are they going to do, pray me away?_ The thought was ludicrous to him. He had never believed in a God of any kind. Not with the things he’d seen and done. In addition to trapping themselves, all of the older churches in Europe were surrounded by cemeteries. There would be numerous shades available to do his bidding.

_No. God will not save you now._ He thought to himself.

* * *

In Kalek, Czech Republic…

They slowed down and pulled past the Czech church’s fence, passing row upon row of the ancient gravestones that lined the churchyard. They stopped and parked their motorbikes directly in front of the doors of the cruciform built church, _Kostel Svate Vaclava_ , the Church of Saint Vaclav.

“Are the doors even open?” Eltariel asked out loud as she pulled off her helmet.

Jim got off from where he sat behind her, his legs still shaking and unsteady from the experience. “What are we doing here?” He asked aloud, not understanding what could have possessed the Numenorean to bring them to such a remote, haunting place.

“I know the Father who shepherds this church. He’s a good man who’s been here for decades. He never locks the church doors so that the people in the town can come and pray when they need to.” Estel answered the elf woman’s question. He then turned to Jim and Sam and, drawing Anduril from his back, he didn’t so much tell them as order them, “Into the church, both of you. It’s holy ground and the safest place from the monster there will be for us tonight.”

“Holy ground?” Sam questioned. “Are you serious? That’s your plan?”

“This isn’t some random thug who’s pursuing us, my friend.” Estel replied with an urgency as he kept his eyes on the motorcycle which even then was coming down the road towards them. “This is a creature born from Morgoth’s own. When fighting the unholy, you must do so on holy ground with weapons of light. Now go, quickly!”

Both Englishmen obeyed and turned to enter the unlocked door of the Catholic Church. Outside, Eltariel unsheathed the Elven made swords she kept on her own person. The two warriors then stood ready for the creature’s arrival. Having chosen their field of battle, they would make their stand there.

“It would help if we had a flame to keep it at bay.” Eltariel told him.

“Anduril will have to be all the flame we need, _edhelvain_.” The Numenorean responded.

The darkened police motorcycle stopped where the church’s cement path met the road. The rider was dressed all in black. An ebony cowl covered his head, though the ashen pale still human face beneath it was visible. The rider shut down the bike and got off of it.

“So this is where we pick up where we left off, no?” The nazgul called out, drawing a long, wicked looking blade from underneath the coat he wore as he drew closer to them. “I will admit, you have been quite the challenging quarry for me ever since that cesspool of a city in England. Of course, things have changed since then, have they not?”

The temperature of the air around Eltariel and Estel dropped even further to where it felt freezing to them. The ground beneath the ring wraith’s boots collected frost and began to freeze as he casually walked towards them, sword in hand as though a grim reaper about to collect his bounty. Around them, both elf and man could feel waves of _fear_ emanating from the creature of darkness. It was thick and tangible, and was being weaponized by the nazgul.

“You bring your girlfriend to this fight?” The ringwraith taunted, gesturing to Eltariel. “She is a special one. I can see the strange light she puts off. Like a neon sign. You think she will make the difference, _da?”_ His face then took on a cruel expression. “I do not think so.”

“I have killed your kind before, monster!” Eltariel called out, unphased by the wraith’s bluster. “Many, many times.”

“I sincerely doubt that, _dyevushka_.” The wraith responded dryly.

The creature then held up his left hand in a fist, exposing a red jeweled ring which then seemed to glow with an unholy flame of its own. Around them, they could feel the presence of others emerge among the gravestones, amplifying the wave of fear around them. Ghostly forms began to wink in and out of sight around them, adding to the terror the creature was unleashing. For any other human being, it would have been paralyzing.

But Eltariel was not human. The light of the Eldar still glowed brightly within her, filling her with faith and strength which shook off the familiar weapon of the nazgul she had encountered before over and over again. Estel felt the fear, but shoved it aside. He too, theough of the race of men, descended from an Elvish heritage of light and faith. He too had fought in battle after battle over his lifetime and had been well disciplined against giving in to panic.

“Give me the Fuhrer’s ring, and I will let your girlfriend and the two English nobodies live.” The nazgul told them. “But not you. You will pay for my brother’s death with your own blood.”

Estel didn’t answer him. He’d been in enough fights to know that any more talking was pointless, and the negotiation even more so. The creature had no intention of letting any of them live. He had no idea to what the wraith was referring, but as the creature came closer, he did recognize the former man’s features. It was the man who tailed them from Goole all the way to Brussels. What had happened to him, or how he came to be like this, the Numenorean had no idea, but a feeling of pity for the living man the monster had been came over him. He would have wished that fate on no one.

“You say nothing?” The wraith asked, snorting. “That is just as well. I enjoy very little now, but I think I will enjoy your deaths and the deaths of your two friends very much.”

“You want my head? Come and get it, monster.” Estel taunted him in return.

The nazgul smiled, raised his own sword and charged the two warriors.

* * *

Inside the Church of Saint Vaclav…

The old church was darkened except for the candle of the eternal flame which remained lit near the tabernacle, signifying the presence of consecrated hosts. For that reason, the tiny light of its single flame reflected powerfully off the white painted walls, and the gilded, artistically carved niches and artwork. Not far from the altar at the center of the cruciform structure was a baptismal stand which was covered with a carved wooden lid depicting Saint John the Baptist. Around the sanctuary were the usual depictions of the stations of the cross, Catholic Saints, and of course a special alcove for the veneration of Saint Vaclav, in English “Wenceslas,” the patron Saint of the Czechs for whom the church was named.

Both Jim and Sam heard the exchange between the ring-wraith and their friends happening outside. And then they heard the tell tale metallic rings of swords clashing at high speed and frequency.

“What are we going to do? We can’t just sit in here and not help!” Sam said, his own voice higher pitched from the fear which reached them inside.

“What would you have us do, run out there and be killed? We’re not fighters, Sam. Not for real.” Jim replied, feeling the effects of the panic himself. “Do you hear the swords out there? This is no game.”

“No, but there’s got to be something! It doesn’t feel right just hiding out in here like scared rats or something.” Sam returned.

Jim agreed with Sam in his heart. It didn’t feel right. He hated not being able to help. The nazgul was after him because he bore the ring. It was killing him that he could do nothing. The Englishman’s eyes adjusted to the extremely low lighting and he looked around the church, feeling desperate for some way to help them. In so doing, he spied the altar’s crucifix and wondered if a blessed object or a holy symbol could be used against the nazgul in some way.

“Sam, Estel said that holy weapons were needed against a nazgul, didn’t he? Do you think there’s anything in here which could be used?” Jim asked his friend.

“What, you mean like a cross against a vampire, or something like that?” Sam replied. “I don’t know. I’d think it’d take something more tangible than just waving a cross at it.”

Jim nodded. Then his eyes fell on the baptismal. In the dim light of the church, he moved over to it then on an inspiration, he moved the covering.

“Sam, come here!” Jim called to his friend.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Jim? It looks like a huge bowl full of water.” Sam said as he came to stand next to Jim.

“It is! It’s the church’s baptismal! The water’s been blessed just like the holy water Estel used in the Azores. Do you remember?”

“I’ll never forget that night!” Sam returned, realizing where Jim was going with it. “But do you think it’ll work on that thing out there?”

“It has to!” Jim responded. “Baptismal water is as almost as holy or blessed as it gets!”

“Alright then! How much of it do you think we’ll need?” Sam asked him, looking at the large, nearly full bowl.

“I don’t know!” Jim replied. “I’ve never been religious!”

“Neither have I.” Sam replied. “Leastwise not until recently.” Then he asked in a somewhat nervous tone gesturing to the nearby altar and crucifix, “Do you think the Lord would mind us using it like that, though? I mean, I’d rather not get on His bad side, if you know what I mean.”

“Under the circumstances, I think He’ll understand, Sam.” Jim answered, sounding more sure than he actually was.

“Right.” Sam replied, taking one side of the large bowl while Jim took the other. “Ready?”

“Er…”

“Wait.” Sam then said. He then turned to the altar and the religious iconography and announced in a more respectful voice, “We don’t mean anything disrespectful by this! I’m sorry if its the wrong thing! Er… Please forgive us for doing this. Er… Amen.” he then made a haphazard sign of the cross across his forehead and chest.

“Just to be sure.” The grocery clerk told Jim after he was done.

“Amen.” Jim agreed, nodding, hoping that it wouldn’t be counted against them in the grand scheme of things.

And with that the two men lifted the heavy vessel of water off of its stand and carefully began to carry it down the aisle in between the pews towards the church entry.

* * *

Outside the church…

Swords clashed again and again, ringing out across the Czech countryside as none of the involved parties seemed to be tiring from the fight. Estel and Eltariel attacked the nazgul from opposite sides, forcing the creature to defend from both. But the unnatural strength and speed of the wraith made it nearly impossible to land a blow. And both elf and man knew better than to let a Nazgul’s blade make contact with them. The results of that could be worse than death itself.

Eltariel was like a whirlwind of Elvish steel with her twin blades, relentlessly attacking the creature, while Estel blocked and parried as many blows with Anduril as he attempted to land. Around them, the shades of those deceased in the graveyard around them wandered and whispered, attempting to distract them and cause them to err fatally, something they were both keenly aware of.

At an opening when the nazgul had been focused on the elf woman for a brief moment, Estel had tried quickly pulling out his Glock and shooting the thing in the back and kneecaps, thinking to at least handicap its movements. But if the bullets had hit, which he was certain they had at that range, the monster didn’t appear to feel them, or register that it had been injured at all. Instead, it refocused its attacks back on Estel, forcing him to toss his gun aside quickly and bring up Anduril once more.

It was clear to Estel that while this creature wore that same combatant’s face which he fought in Brussels, it was not the same man at all. The dark powers that had been granted to him had stripped away his humanity leaving something other and fouler in its place. It fought like the demon it had become.

They kept this up for an eternity until Estel heard the church door creak open. He could not however look to see what had made it open, or what might have possessed Jim and Sam to open it. If they all survived this encounter, he would have stern words for them both about curiosity and its consequences. Instead, at that moment, he pressed his own attack with Anduril harder, forcing the nazgul to pay attention to him alone.

And then Estel heard Sam’s voice call out loudly, “Hey ugly! We’ve got your ring right here!”

The next thing Estel’s eyes saw, his mind couldn’t fully register right in the moment. The ring-wraith turned towards the church door and started towards it urgently. As it turned, it was doused with several gallons of cold water drenching it from head to toe. As soon as the water touched the creature, it began to scream as though it were doused with burning gasoline, and though Estel couldn’t be certain, it almost appeared as though golden white flames had begun to lick its clothes and face where the water had touched.

The ring wraith continued to scream in pain, flailing its arms and throwing its sword. It then ran from them all, its cries ringing around the nearby verdant countryside, and disappeared into the darkness of the night. As it moved off, the phantasms which had made their appearance retreated back to their rest in their graves.

“What was that? What did you just do?” Eltariel asked in surprise and no little shock.

“We, er… We doused it with the baptismal.” Jim replied.

“You did _what_?” Estel asked, trying to process what had just happened.

“Well, we didn’t know how much of it to use, so we used all of it.” Sam replied.

“Do you think we killed it?” Jim asked, hopeful.

Eltariel blinked several times incredulously, several different emotions crossing her own face before it settle into a wry, but warm smile, her eyes taking on a new respect for their two charges. “Well done.” she praised them. “No, you haven’t killed it. Not permanently at least as long as the ring still exists. But I doubt we will see it again before dawn.”

Estel sheathed his sword, shaking his head at the two Englishmen’s irreverent ingenuity. “That is not something I would have thought of, I must admit. You’ve both bought us several more hours at the very least where we won’t see it. Although, I will have come up with an explanation to Father Pavel about all of this. If he keeps his regular routine, he will be in here for his personal prayers come daybreak.”

The Numenorean then went to retrieve his gun and inspect the sword which the nazgul had tossed in its writhing pain. He studied the etchings on the blade and the detailed carvings on the crossguard and pommel. There was a foul and evil feel to the weapon.

“This is no ordinary sword.” Estel pronounced.

Eltariel joined him to look at it. “No. It is a Morgul blade.” She announced in disgust. “I have not seen one for many, many eons, but I have not forgotten them. It had to have received it from somewhere.”

“Or someone.” Estel agreed. “This affair may be far more complicated than we initially thought.”


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

At the Hilton Airport Hotel in Frankfurt…

Jim’s heart and mind were both still racing that evening as they checked into the rather posh, modern hotel. The events of just a couple of hours before saw the nazgul depart on the plane for Central America, stowed away in the luggage compartment of the Transatlantic Airbus plane. It had been Eltariel’s sharp eyes which had caught the dark clothed shape from the windows of the boarding area as it stole away up into the hold.

They had been patiently waiting like any of the other international travelers. The motorcycles had been left in an airport parking lot to be later retrieved by Estel’s kinsmen. All of their less than socially sanctioned “equipment” had been discretely stowed in lockers at the airport, with the exception of Jim’s very antique mithril shirt which, for some unknown reason, did not set off the metal detectors or body scanners which the airport’s security services made use of. That such priceless relics as Sting and Anduril should be so treated seemed almost unthinkable to Jim when it was done, but it couldn’t be helped. They would not be permitted on the plane, and would never clear customs on the other side. Eltariel wore the cotton jersey hood of her green and grey denim jacket up over her head so that her distinctive ears were covered. Jim noticed that she did this frequently when around other people. Less so, she untied the pony tail of her hair and let it fall over the tips of her tapered ears to disguise them as she did when passing through security before drawing her hood once more to conceal both.

The Elvish woman never left Jim’s side with the rare exception of allowing him to use the privy on his own. As bodyguards went, she never let her guard down, and her eyes frequently wandered, taking in the details of every bit of surroundings they found themselves in. She was not unfriendly, and frequently had a warm, good-natured expression and an easy smile on her lips, but she said very little. For his part, Jim found himself somewhat intimidated and uncomfortable by her, though it was nothing she herself said or did. Instead, he realized, it was his own insecurity at being in the presence of such a strong, capable, and extremely beautiful woman almost constantly. There was a maturity and a wisdom in her eyes that he couldn’t fathom, and a profound dedication to her duty which demanded his admiration and respect. It made him feel… less than, if he was to be honest.

Estel who was never far from him either gave him a similar feeling, though with the Numenorean it was different. Estel was a nearly perfect specimen of masculinity, tall, strong, ruggedly handsome, and a natural leader. He was the kind of man nearly ever man Jim knew, including himself, aspired to be. But Estel had his flaws. He was still _human_ and made mistakes. There were still things he did not know. This made being around him much easier.

Eltariel was a different matter altogether. She seemed to _radiate_ perfection. She wasn’t arrogant. She wasn’t proud. She was just _good_. The goodness, beauty, and light about her was _unnatural_ for a human being. She didn’t have to say anything for it to be felt by those near her. And when Jim was near her, if he were also to be honest, he didn’t want to be anywhere else even as he felt uncomfortable with his own involuntary attraction to her perfection. It was similar with being in the Lady Arwen’s presence, except that with the Lady, there was always the knowledge of her being Estel’s “grandmother” that put things into perspective. The only similar perspective to be had was Eltariel’s mysterious relationship with the Dunadan heir.

He had asked her about it when the Numenorean went to face Father Pavel in the church and explain the loss of the baptismal water to his old friend. That was a conversation which took some time, and both Englishmen had been somewhat curious.

“So, Estel and you knew each other before, then?” Jim had asked her as Sam and he sat in a pew just after dawn in the Catholic Church in Czech, and she stood watch next to them.

She had smiled in response, “Yes. For many years.” Her eyes lit up just a little bit more when Jim had broached the subject, though there was a sadness in them as well.

“Did you meet during a war or some such?” Sam asked her, less than tactfully. “Estel mentioned he’d fought in the second world war.”

“There were times we fought together during that conflict.” she had answered. “But not many. He joined the Allied armies as a mercenary, and I infiltrated the German army to get close to Hitler and confirm he had the ring. They accepted me as a ‘specimen of Aryan perfection,’ and it was easier for me to move freely among the Nazis and gather information. We didn’t see each other very often.”

“So where did you meet then?” Sam asked again.

“At Cerin Amroth, in nineteen thirty seven just before that war. I had returned to inform my Lady of new developments in Germany’s government, and of my suspicions about Hitler’s rise to power and the unnatural persuasion he was able to hold over people. Estel was just a young man then, no more than twenty.” Eltariel told them freely.

“He seems pretty sweet on you, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Sam told her.

She laughed lightly, but again there was a sadness to it. “No, I don’t mind. I am fond of him too. He has been a good friend over the decades. He reminds me much of another man I knew long ago. It is a pity that Gondor and Arnor are no more in Middle Earth. Estel would have been a worthy heir of his ancestors, and a good king.”

“Just a friend then?” Jim asked teasingly, a half smile on his face.

“That is bold!” Eltariel chided him, but the sad smile never left her face.

“Sorry.” Jim apologized.

There was a moment where none of them spoke, and then Eltariel said, “Yes. Just a friend. For both our sakes. Both he and I might wish it were more, and I don’t deny that, but it can’t be.”

A look of confusion crossed Sam’s features. “Why not? If you’re both sweet on each other, what’s stopping you?”

The sad expression intensified as if the weight of the eons of her life crashed down on her at once, and Jim felt ashamed he had ever broached the subject with her at all for the seeming pain it was causing her.

“He is mortal. I am Elvenkind.” She said, with no little chasm between the two. “When the ring is finally destroyed, and my mission here is completed, I intend to pass over into the undying lands to Eldamar where the rest of my kin are. Perhaps not soon as you understand time, but Estel will eventually die and be nowhere I can follow as happened between Elessar and the Lady Arwen. If it were not for her children’s need, she would have died from grief as your Mr. Tolkien described it. I am not _peredhel_. While I can certainly be killed in combat or by chance accident, I cannot choose a mortal life to live as one of your kind with the gift of man. If I should become attached to Estel in the way to which we might both be inclined, it would only end in sorrow and grief one way or the other.”

“I hadn’t considered that. I am sorry if I’ve intruded too much or offended you.” Jim told her.

She only smiled in return and said, “It is well, friend. It is a truth I have lived with for many ages.”

“It sounds kind of lonely, if you ask me.” Sam remarked, though there was an empathy for the elf woman in his eyes.

“There was a time when I felt that way after most of my people departed Middle Earth, but I found friendships among men I did not know were possible before that.” She answered him, not appearing offended at all. “I have called many men and women of your kind ‘friend’ over the span of my existence, especially as my kind dwindled in this world to perhaps a handful now. I have watched every one of them grow older and pass on to where only Iluvatar knows. I have learned much from them. I have loved them at times, I have mourned them, and I honor their lives. Through it all, I have also learned the need to let them go and move on.”

Estel had continued to speak with the priest as the sun rose just a little higher in the sky above the horizon. Both Jim and Sam were quiet for a time, reflecting on all that she had said. Then something she said struck Jim as odd, and he felt a compulsion to ask.

“You said you infiltrated the Nazis to get closer to Hitler. It was because of the ring wasn’t it?” Jim asked her.

“Yes. I realized he was in possession of it as I watched his all too quick rise to the Chancellorship. I don’t know how it came to him.” She replied.

“Why didn’t you just kill Hitler and take the ring from him during the war?” Jim asked. “I would have a difficult time believing that you had no opportunity, much less the skills needed.”

She sighed as though it were a question she had asked herself many times. “I…” she paused, gathering her thoughts. “Skilled at war I may be, James Frudd. I have killed many; orcs, men, and other things which no longer roam the earth. But I am no assassin. I do not murder in cold blood. Could you kill a man in his sleep? Could you walk up to him and slit his throat while his mistress watches? While he is surrounded by children giving him flowers? Would you be comfortable drenching an entire building in blood and corpses, some of them innocent, to cover your trail? Yes. I had the opportunity many times. Many times I have wondered if I made the right choice in not butchering him where he stood. Would I have saved lives by so doing, or just darkened my own soul? Things were not so simple from where I stood then. Hitler was in command, but there were millions carrying out his orders. Hitler’s troops may have been servants of darkness, but they were men, and not orcs. They would not have scattered if he had been assassinated like when Sauron’s ring was destroyed. The Fuhrer’s death before the Allies gained the advantage might have caused the German death machine to fall into the more intelligent hands who tried to advise him. I know. I saw them every day. The outcome might have been very different from what history records. Would I have saved millions, or ensured the deaths of millions more and the defeat of the Allies?”

“Why didn’t you just steal the ring from him then?” Sam asked.

“Because like Mr. Frudd, he always wore it around his neck. I would have had to sever his neck to remove it.” She told him plainly. “Sometimes, solutions are not as simple as we would like them to be. I watched. Where I could, I made certain orders were misplaced, especially those involving the Jewish people. I relayed information to the Allies. I kept track of Hitler and the ring and then advised Estel where they were both going to be in his bunker in Berlin. But the American soldier got to the ring before we did and gambled it away. The British officer was long gone by the time we knew it.”

Such was the character and nature of Jim’s now constant bodyguard. Even in her admitted imperfection, regrets, and self-doubt there was a purity which had an otherness to it. It was both endearing and off-putting at the same time.

She had been standing while Jim and Sam sat in the molded seats watching the aircraft take off and land from the tarmac through the windows. Their plane which sat docked in the terminal was still in the process of being cleaned and having the check in luggage being loaded. Their party of course had no such luggage. They had left so quickly, they had no real carry on luggage either except some stylish rucksacks with basic travel toiletries and some far too expensive clothing to be used as spare changes, which had all been purchased in the terminal shops, so as not to appear too out of the ordinary with no luggage at all. Eltariel’s own seat on the plane had been purchased by Estel at the counter upon entering the airport.

Out of curiosity, when she had produced her own scarlet colored passport for identification, Jim had glanced at the name inscribed therein. As far as the German government was concerned, she was “Adelaide Weiss,” born in Dresden in 1993. The Englishman wondered if she always used that name, or if she changed it every so often like the Numenorean did. He then wondered if that was the name the Fuhrer knew her by. But then Jim shoved that thought aside as distasteful.

It was while they were casually waiting to board the aircraft that her Elvish eyes spotted the tattered clothes and scarred form of the ring-wraith moving from shadow to shadow outside near the plane, skulking around the luggage compartment doors of the aircraft until it disappeared inside. She said nothing, but her eyes had narrowed and her focus became laser sharp on what was happening on the other side of the glass. How the creature was even able to get that far without alerting any of the handlers on the ground was itself frightening, let alone how it knew which plane they were to board.

“We cannot get on the plane.” She announced quietly to the three men who were with her, explaining in no uncertain terms their problem.

Estel’s mind spun quickly, as did Sam’s and Jim’s. They spoke privately together in low voices so as not to be overheard.

“Well, what do we do now?” Sam asked, the pitch of his own voice rising. “I thought we’d seen the last of it for a while at least.”

“As did I.” Jim added. “I didn’t think it would recover this quickly, much less find us here.”

“I agree with Eltariel. We must change our plans. We cannot board that plane. We do, and we risk not only ourselves but everyone on board if it finds a way to confront us within the cabin.” Estel responded.

“But how did it find us?” Jim asked in frightened disbelief. “How could it possibly have found us?”

“The ring.” Eltariel then concluded for them. “I was not certain before, but it must be drawn by it. That is the only explanation which is reasonable.”

“And it is only reasonable to assume that we would be boarding the plane next to the terminal to which the ring is closest.” Estel added his thoughts.

“So what do we do? Change planes and wait for a later flight?” Jim asked.

“There is no later flight tonight.” Estel told him. “And it would be waiting for us at the Airport when we landed. No, we must develop a new plan for getting to Aule’s Forge. One that would put as much distance as possible between it and us for as long as possible. For now however…” Estel paused as the boarding call for the flight began. “If it is tracking us by the ring, let it think we are still boarding. Remain here and do not move. I will tend to it.”

Estel then rose from where he had been seated and went to speak with the airlines’ representative. They were not far from Jim’s hearing, but the conversation was entirely in German and he didn’t understand any of it. While he was speaking with them, the other passengers, of whom there were not many, began to board the plane and the seating area began to clear out until they were the only ones left. The attendants continued to speak with Estel and check their computers repeatedly, dismayed at what they were hearing. After about half an hour, the last call was given and then the doors were shut. Finally, the Numenorean returned to where the others were seated.

“What did you tell them?” Sam asked.

“I simply told them a family emergency had arisen and we would not be able to make the flight after all. They were kind and attempted to find us alternative flights, but sadly all others conflicted with our prior schedules. In the end, they said our tickets could not be refunded. I trust my grandmother will not be too upset about the loss of the money for them, all things considered. They were quite expensive.” He explained, adding lighter tone of sarcasm to his last statement.

Eltariel raised a questioning eyebrow at this last comment, as though the statement was beyond absurd.

The four watched the plane pull away from the terminal from the window, the nazgul still safely locked in the luggage compartment. It taxied down the runway and launched itself into the air. All four of them kept keen eyes on it for any signs of anything dark and human form dropping out of it as it did so. They did not relax and leave for the exit until they were certain the creature was gone.

“So, what is plan ‘B’ then?” Jim asked as they left the gate area to retrieve their belongings they had left in the lockers. “How do we get across the Atlantic if we don’t fly?”

Eltariel had no answer for him as they walked, but looked to their human leader who appeared to be considering that same question before pulling out his mobile and dialing a number. “I might have an answer for that.”

“Might?” Jim asked. “What do you mean by ‘might’?”

Estel held up a finger as the phone connected. What followed was a conversation in fluent French which Jim could barely follow for his lack of fluency, but he caught the essence of it involving an old friend of the Numenorean’s whom he hadn’t spoken with for quite a while, but who was nevertheless happy to hear from him. It also involved Estel requesting a favor, and a boat.

“Are you certain, e _dhellen_?” Eltariel asked, as the call was ended. “That journey will take three weeks if not more. And we will still have to find further transport once we make port again.”

“I know, but that might give us something of an advantage as well, _edhelvain_.” Estel had answered. “and we need fear no wraiths while at sea.”

“At sea? What are you talking about? What’s plan ‘B’?” Sam had asked him.

“I have an old friend named Francois. He is the captain of a freighter that will be in port at Le Havre in France for the next two days still. After that, he sails for Cayenne in French Guiana in South America. Francois owes me more than a few favors, and there is room for four passengers on his ship. With the motorbikes, we can be in Le Havre by tomorrow evening.” Estel explained.

“Tomorrow evening? Is it so far?” Jim asked, a powerful weariness overtaking him for the lack of sleep and excitement of the previous twenty four hours.

“No, it’s only eight or nine hours from here. But at least for tonight, we know the wraith will not be pursuing us here. None of us have slept since the night before, and a good supper would not be unwelcome. We find a hotel, get some rest, and leave for Le Havre tomorrow morning after breakfast. It would also do for us to acquire more substantial luggage for the journey than these, as well as more comfortable transportation to the port than the motorcycles.” Estel replied, much to the relief of both Englishmen upon hearing that they would be finding suitable rooms for the night.

“But it will be waiting for us in Costa Rica. You know that.” Eltariel told him.

“One thing at a time, _edhelvain_.” Estel responded, then repeated himself more quietly as his mind began to consider that very eventuality, “One thing at a time.”

Later that evening... 

The news broadcasts from all over Europe and even the international versions of American news networks were filled with coverage of the attack on Cerin Amroth as Jim and the rest of the party discovered while settling in to what they had hoped would have been a good night’s sleep. Jim had turned on the television only to discover that the coverage was inescapable. All four companions watched in horror as the woods around their sanctuary went up in flames, and the mortars which had been launched exploded underneath the news helicopters in vivid detail. The footage replayed endlessly on several channels with commentary in a number of languages. All were relieved to see the footage of the estate within Cerrin Amroth’s protection miraculously untouched. It was not unexpected, but there were still sighs of relief.

There were brief interviews with the Lady Arwen by the networks. The Lady handled the reporters with grace and poise, speaking sweetly and politely while wearing modern clothes befitting a confident, twenty-something year old young European woman with the addition of a stylish head scarf which did not look out of place with her outfit.

Jim watched with amazement and disbelief as the ancient Elvish woman she stood at the charred beginning of the road into the estate and diplomatically weaved through the questions and demands of those present, permitting only the German authorities to actually set foot on the property, and only those with the need to make notes and write reports. She spoke in fluent German as she answered them. Estel translated the exchanges for the two Englishmen. What was especially fascinating about what she said on camera was that none of it was an actual falsehood.

She gave her name to both police and reporters alike as Arwen en Aran. One reporter instantly made the connection to Tolkien’s work, “Like in _The Lord of the Rings_? How unusual.” The journalist commented. She replied, “Yes, my parents were very invested in Tolkien’s stories. They were quite fond of the name.”

Another asked who owned the property, she responded, “I am the property owner. I inherited the land from my grandmother before she passed on, but it has been in our family for a very long time.”

Yet another asked how the property appeared to survive completely untouched past a certain point in the woods, she replied, “I can only thank God that so much was miraculously spared. We have been truly fortunate. I am just very thankful none of our family was hurt, or the property destroyed. We have many heirlooms which are important to us.”

“Why won’t you allow us in to see it for ourselves?” One reporter rudely asked. She responded by smiling warmly with the kind of genuine goodness the half-elf woman radiated, and explained, “I’m very sorry, but we’ve just been through a terrible scare. I’m happy to answer what questions I can, but I must ask you to respect our privacy during this time. We’re not used to having so many visitors to our home.”

The last question which the news report showed her answering was, “Do you know who it was who attacked you?” She responded sweetly, but with a more somber and saddened expression, “Someone who doesn’t like us very much I would assume.”

German authorities, new reporters, and commentators were all convinced it was the work of far right neo-nazi terrorists who had been on the rise, but no one understood why the attack had been so open and so brazen on such a remote residence as theirs except that the group was making a statement about their capabilities and firepower. The local and federal German authorities would be investigating those arrested and their affiliations more thoroughly. In all over a hundred of the terrorists were killed by German police, though there were unconfirmed rumors that some corpses had been found killed by hunting arrows. Sadly, twenty four German officers lost their lives in the line of duty protecting those inside the property.

“Wow.” Sam had remarked upon seeing the report and hearing the Numenorean’s translation of it. “I didn’t know how she was going to explain all that, but she did a bloody terrific job of it, and didn’t tell one lie the whole time neither. None of them noticed anything too different about her either, or if they did they didn’t let on.”

“Your kind tend to see and hear only what they expect to see and hear.” Eltariel replied. “If they expect to see and hear a young human woman, then that is what they will see and hear regardless of what is in front of them. It will take a week, maybe two, but things will die down and both reporters and authorities alike will move on to the next crisis and forget there was ever anything unique about the Lady Arwen or Cerin Amroth. It will become a footnote at best.”

“You sound very confident of it.” Jim answered, not so certain of that outlook on things.

“It is how my Lady and I have observed mankind to think. Our memories are long, mankind’s are not.” Eltariel returned. "What matters for now is that Cerin Amroth and those within it are safe."

Jim hoped she was right as he went to make preparations for bed.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

On the A4 westbound towards Le Havre, France…

Jim Frudd watched the French countryside pass by in a blur that afternoon. Considering the events of the past few days, he found it pleasantly dull. He reflected that he had almost forgotten what “dull” felt like. No one was chasing them that they knew of. There were no specters or ghosts which they had encountered that day. It was just a long, scenic ride in a car with people who had become good friends.

Next to him in the back seat of an earlier model white Volkswagen Tiguan sat his best mate Sam who had, for the past few hours, been wondering aloud how folks back home in Goole were doing, and whether or not he’d have a job at the grocery by the time he returned. He’d wired some money to his landlord from Frankfurt before they left for the rent on his flat which was due, but he’d been gone a lot longer than he’d promised his manager. Jim had no such concerns for his own business and house. He inherited both from his aunt and uncle, and owed no money on either. He resolved to help make things right for Sam if he returned to find himself unemployed or in debt.

Gondeg and another of Estel’s kinsmen, a tall man with features much like the other two, named Arataug arrived in Frankfurt shortly after six o’clock in the morning. The Numenoreans had driven the Volkswagen all the way from the estate that night to exchange it with Estel for the motorcycles still parked in the Frankfurt airport’s garage. They also brought more news from their grandmother, and filled in the gaps on the goings on at Cerin Amroth after the attack which the news did not cover.

“There have been police and government people in and out of Cerin Amroth since the attack.” Gondeg had told them in their hotel room after the two men had entered.

“Bloody hell, how bad is it?” Jim had asked in reply, genuinely concerned that their secluded sanctuary might come to an end.

“It’s been more of a challenge.” The Numenorean had replied. “None of us have gotten much sleep since. They’ve been talking more to Father Adalbert than to Grandmother. I assume it’s because he appears older. Fortunately, he’s been around for a long time too, and is as tactful as a man can be. I’m not sure what he had to say to them about the Elvish on the accoutrements of the chapel, or about the memorial, but there haven’t been too many raised eyebrows from what I’ve seen. Grandmother hasn’t appeared outside of her residence without a head covering of some sort. Of course she’s forbidden any reporters or news cameras be brought into the property, and the good Father has reinforced that. At night we’ve got our people in the tree flets around the perimeter in case the bastards return. So far they haven’t.”

“Any word from our contacts as to who attacked us?” Estel had asked his cousin.

“You know damn well who they were and what they wanted, cousin.” Gondeg had replied. “As if the ring-wraith, who wasn’t supposed to exist anymore by the way, that ran you down wasn’t any clue. We don’t need our friends in seedy back alleys to tell us that. Have you any idea where it even came from?”

Estel had shook his head before saying, “It had a human face. I recognized it as the man who tailed us from England and attacked us in Brussels. It accused me of the death of the man’s brother.”

“Have you any idea of what it was talking about?” Arataug had asked him.

“No. At least, I’m not sure. Two men attempted to end me in an alley in Yorkshire not far from the police station. I had no choice but to dispatch them quickly and make a hasty exit.” Estel had replied. “It could have been one of them.” Then he had added, “Or a hundred others over the years where I couldn’t stay my blade. Regardless, it still has a personal vendetta with me even without the ring.”

“I wish we could travel with you.” Gondeg had told them all. “You’re going to have this thing waiting for you in Central America and it will have had a month to prepare by the time you arrive.”

“We both do, but Grandmother has ordered us to remain close to home.” Arataug had added.

“But we have an advantage, don’t we?” Sam had then said, interrupting. “It doesn’t know why we were going there, does it? It has no idea we’d try to destroy the ring, just like Sauron didn’t know in _The Lord of the Rings_.”

“All too true.” Eltariel had answered him. “Sauron couldn’t have imagined anyone would have wanted to destroy his ring rather than use it. The nazgul may be just as short sighted. It won’t know why we were going to Costa Rica or where. If it is recently created, then it may know nothing of the history of the rings and Middle Earth. Not everyone in this world has been introduced to it after all.”

Estel’s two kinsmen did not stay long after their conversation, but had to return to Cerin Amroth with the motorcycles. The party of four however left Frankfurt after having checked out of the hotel at eleven in the morning, stopping only to pick up some American style fast food for lunch to eat on the road, much to the chagrin of Jim’s stomach. The reason for the late hour of their departure was that, as Estel had suggested, they had to acquire a few days worth more clothing and larger suitcases to carry them in than the rucksacks they acquired the day before. Their journey at sea would be three weeks or so, and doing constant laundry was not an option aboard a cargo vessel. They would also need clothing better suited for the warmer and more tropical climates of Central and South America once they arrived there. The shops in the city, however, did not open until nine in the morning at the earliest. None of them were particular about their choices of clothing, but even then it still took some time to purchase everything they were expecting to need for the coming month of hard travel.

They had been driving for several hours when Eltariel, who was behind the wheel at the moment, pulled off the main highway for a rest stop southeast of Verdun in France. The fuel gauge was dropping lower than she preferred, and it was a good time for all of them to stretch their legs and look for refreshments at the two establishments which passed for restaurants for desperate travelers. She wrinkled her nose at both options, an eatery called “Pomme de Pain” and the American poultry franchise, KFC, but there was nothing for it unless they wanted to head into Verdun itself for their supper.

In truth, she did not like this region of Europe, not for what it was, but for what she remembered it to be in ages past. She remembered when it was the borderlands between the fallen Elven realm of Eregion and the wild lands of the Enedwaith. Of course it looked much different then than it did thousands of years before. Gone were the ruins of her people and the crudely constructed buildings of the Dunlendings. Gone too were the half-orcs and wargs which had once frequented its hills and pastures during darker times. They had all been replaced with farms, modern towns, and the signs of human civilization everywhere which its ancient occupants couldn’t have dared imagine. But the memories of what it had been remained, like the ghosts which she knew still haunted its shadows and fields.

She parked the car next to a fuel pump, and the four of them got out. The sun was still shining in the mid afternoon, only just beginning to dip towards the west. The smell of diesel exhaust from freight trucks mingled with the scents of wild grasses and distant forests. Estel took to fueling the car while the other three made the short trek towards the fast food establishments.

“What I wouldn’t give for homemade English food right now.” Jim said. “But I suppose there are worse things than fried chicken, as long as it’s not breaded.”

“KFC’s not so bad, Jim.” Sam responded to him, knowing his picky eating habits. “And you can get yours without the breading, I think. They’ve also got chicken pot pies and mashed taters. I’ve seen advertisements on the tele for it.”

Just as they were close to the doors but before stepping onto the sidewalk adjacent to them, Jim stopped and paused. His hand went to his chest, and to the small outline of a circular bulge beneath it, closing his eyes as he did. He said nothing, but looked as if he might be ill.

“Really, it’s not that bad!” Sam emphasized again, not knowing whether to find humor in his best mate’s response, or to be more concerned.

Jim just shook his head slowly. “No, it’s not the food, Sam.” He told him in response.

Eltariel, who had been mildly amused by the two men who so reminded her of hobbits, then grew very concerned. “What is it, Jim?”

“I’m- I’m not quite sure. It feels like there’s something… someone nearby. Close.” Jim replied. “The ring is pulling at my neck. It wants to go there.”

He pointed off towards a nearby field that was lying fallow at the moment. Eltariel turned her sharp Elven eyes in the direction he pointed. At first, she saw nothing in the daylight. But then, she caught glimmers, distortions, and faint outlines of a ghostly form which would be all but invisible to men, and nearly so to her. It was familiar to her, but not threatening.

Sam’s expression had grown from concern to alarm. “Shouldn’t we get going then? What if it’s one of those things again?”

“It isn’t. There’s nothing corporeal out there.” Eltariel replied, keeping her eyes on the field regardless. “And it’s still full sunlight.”

“The last time the bloody thing did something like this we were surrounded by ghosts, weren’t we Jim?” Sam said.

Jim nodded, his body beginning to turn on its own towards the field without his permission. “The ring is pulling me. I can feel it getting stronger.”

“Well, what do we do?” Sam asked her, confused by her seeming non-concern about the whole thing. “We’ve got to at least get him back to the car.”

Eltariel nodded, and they both took Jim by the arms and began to lead him back towards the Volkswagen. The Elf woman’s eyes though continuously went back to the same spot in the nearby field. But Jim himself began to feel heavier and harder to lead away.

Suddenly, his hand slipped down his shirt and he disappeared from sight.

Once more, the world around Jim had gone wrong and fuzzy as the ring found its way onto his finger regardless of the chain. It fell to a kind of quiet too as the sounds from the living world became muffled and soft. There were many specters he could see at the truck stop from many ages and time periods. He saw some that resembled medieval peasants, some that looked to be Celt or Germanic, and many wearing soldier’s garb from both world wars. And there were just a few that appeared even older still, with upswept ears and dress that were too refined and sophisticated for any ancient human civilization. None of them appeared to have the slightest interest in him, his companions, or anything which concerned the living. But the ring would not leave him alone even upon this new sight. As though someone had taken his hand, it led him towards what had been for him only moments ago an empty field.

But now, it did not appear quite so empty. And the phantasm to which the ring drew him was unlike the vast majority of the others, especially for the outlines of its pointed ears. This one had the echoes of straight dark hair which appeared to spill past his shoulders and wore plates of armor of a style and a type which Jim could only describe as Elven for its design and craftsmanship. The specter’s haunted eyes turned towards the living man who had intruded into the ghastly realms. Those eyes didn’t so much see him as they saw through or past him.

“Talion?” The Elven ghost asked, appearing confused and uncertain. “Eltariel? Where are you?” He tried again. He continued to mutter as the ring led Jim to stand before the remnants of the Elven man. “No, no, NO!!! This is all wrong!!” The Elven man shouted. “No! I should have been freed! I paid my debt a thousand times over!”

His face twisted and contorted with confusion, anger, fear, and then… nothing, as though his thoughts had gone blank. He seemed to be searching for someone or something, but couldn’t ever find what he was looking for. Then the Elven man noticed Jim Frudd in full, and in particular the ring which sat on his hand.

“You! You have my ring!” The Elven man directed his attention to Jim who was both too frightened and too fascinated to do the smart thing and remove himself from the situation. “Why did it come to you? Oh, this is all wrong!”

“Who- who are you?” Jim managed to ask.

But either the Elven man didn’t hear him or chose to ignore the question. “No! It was supposed to be destroyed! She promised she would destroy it! Please, I beg of you! Release me! Throw it into the fires of Orodruin where I forged it! Yes, Orodruin. That’s the only place. Drop it into the magma and let me find peace.”

Then a profound recognition came to Jim’s mind, as he asked, “Celebrimbor?”

“Celebrimbor?” The ghost paused for a moment as if trying to remember. “Celebrimbor? Yes. I was Celebrimbor once.” He looked down at his ghostly hands sadly as if recalling something more, “I was a smith. I was the greatest smith of my people. I-” He broke off, becoming harder and angrier. “I made a mistake. I was too stupid to realize it until it was too late. He lied to me. He lied to me and I trusted him and… It was a mistake.”

Celebrimbor’s specter then cried out as if in agony, pulling his hands towards the sides of his head. It was a heartbreaking cry of despair and pain. “I was Celebrimbor, and then I was Talion or Talion was me and we were the Bright Lord, and then… and then I was Sauron! No! That’s all wrong! Where does it end? Why doesn’t it end! The Dark Lord is gone, why does the Bright Lord remain?”

Jim’s heart broke at the sight of the broken Elven man’s ghost. He wanted to help him somehow, but he was a ghost? What could be done for a man who’d been dead for thousands of years?

As if sensing the Englishman’s thoughts, Celebrimbor’s spirit cried out again, “Release me! Please! I beg of you.” And the specter appeared to almost sob and weep. “Please! Destroy it! Destroy it like I was destroyed, like he was destroyed, like the rest of it has been destroyed! I beg you, please…”

Tears came to Jim’s own face at the sight of him and what price he had paid for his mistakes. “I will. I promise you, sir. I will destroy it for you.” Jim told him before beginning to turn around.

“Destroy it?” Celebrimbor’s voice changed again as if it were the first time someone had mentioned the idea. “No, no, no. The ring is MINE! I forged it! Only I can truly wield its power! I will bring Sauron to his knees with it and rid Middle Earth of his stain once and for all! The Bright Lord will rise again!” The ghost’s demeanor changed completely into something darker and more frightening. “I will have my ring back, NOW!”

The phantasm made to lunge for Jim’s hand, an ethereal dagger forming in its own. But Jim’s innate survival instincts kicked in and he began to run from it, back towards the rest stop and through the other spirits which paid no attention to either him or his pursuer whatsoever. He ran as hard as he could, hearing the ghost cry out behind him, “No!! You cannot escape me!! I will have my vengeance!!”

Celebrimbor’s voice faded behind him, but Jim didn’t stop and was glad when the soft ground of the field gave way to the hard asphalt of the French travel plaza. There were few times in his life when he’d run that hard, and not being one for strenuous exercise, his body chose to let him know its displeasure.

He spied Eltariel, Sam, and Estel all together close to the restaurant, and ran for them. They looked like they were calling out for someone or something, but he couldn’t hear them. Then he realized, he was still wearing the ring, and pulled it off of his finger, but being careful to not lose hold of it.

“JIM!!” He heard Sam’s voice shouting, followed by the Numenorean and Elf woman. They all looked beside themselves.

“I’m here!” He shouted back as he ran up to where Sam was standing. “I’m here, Sam!” He exclaimed, breathing hard from the run. “I saw him! I saw-” Then Jim doubled over, completely winded and nauseous from the run.

“I’ve got him!” Sam then called to Estel and Eltariel. “Where’d you go? You’ve never disappeared for that long before!”

“I saw…” Jim tried to answer. “He was distraught… raving...”

“What did you see?” Eltariel asked as she responded to Sam’s call and ran up to them both.

“Celebrimbor!” Jim answered. “First he begged me to destroy the ring, then he tried to take it for himself!” He breathed in and out a little more before continuing. “The ring led me straight to him. He’s stark raving mad!”

“I know.” Eltariel answered, more quietly than either of the two men expected.

Estel then came up to join them, having heard that Jim had been found. “Are you alright?” The Numenorean asked him sincerely after the Elf woman and Sam filled him in while Jim recovered himself. True worry filled his eyes for the man.

“I’m.. I’m fine, just shaken and winded. That’s all.” Jim told him. “Not everyone is athletically inclined.”

“We should go.” Estel then told them. “We’ll find someplace else to get our supper.”

“It’s still daylight. He can do no real harm for now. We can still order the food and take it for the car.” Eltariel told them, a sad, knowing look in her eyes. “He can affect nothing without either the ring or a willing host to act through. You and Sam go and get the food. Jim and I can wait in the car.”

Estel gave her a questioning look, but then turned to Jim for confirmation, who nodded. He told Sam, “The chicken pot pie and mashed potatoes, if you please. It will be the closest thing to English we’ll get here.”

“Yeah.” Sam replied uncertainly, worried about both his friend, and Eltariel’s strange reaction to the new threat to his friend. “We won’t be long.”

Eltariel led Jim back to the car where she sat in the front passenger seat and he in the rear seat. They were both quiet for a moment and then commented, “You knew he would be here, didn’t you?”

She turned to look at him and shook her head. “Not here exactly, no. But I knew his ghost had returned to this region. His forge and home were not terribly far from here. The last I saw of his phantasm it was farther north and west near Amiens. That was months ago.”

“You can see him?” Jim asked. “You can talk to him?”

“I once wore the ring almost constantly.” Eltariel replied, turning back to stare out the windshield as she spoke. “For hundreds of years. Celebrimbor’s ghost and I worked together and had the same goals. I was once a willing host for him to effect his will on the living world. I can sense him, even in the daylight. I know when he’s there and when he’s not, and I can hear him when he speaks.”

“Was he always mad?” Jim asked.

“No. In the beginning, he was intelligent, cunning, and resourceful. He was a brilliant warrior, tactician, and strategist. With my help, he almost succeeded in overthrowing Sauron and banishing him.” Eltariel replied, “I respected him deeply.”

“What happened to him?” Jim asked, wondering what could have driven the spirit to the depths of madness where it found itself.

“At the final battle between Sauron and we atop Barad-dur. Sauron bested us by cutting the ring from my hand and imprisoning Celebrimbor’s spirit within himself.” The Elf woman held up her left hand where her ring finger and pinkie were missing. “He was locked there within Sauron’s own darkness until the Dark Lord’s ring was destroyed in Orodruin. I went to search for his spirit after that, but when I found him many years later, he was not the same Elf I knew. I can only guess that having to exist with that monster for as long as he did twisted and deranged what was left of his mind after death. I have kept a watch for him over time. I have checked on him. It is always the same. He always begs me to destroy the ring and release him.”

“I can’t help but feel sorry for him.” Jim told her. “Even when he turned on me and tried to take the ring from me. I want to help him.”

“He tried to take it from me as well. He tried to possess me without my permission.” Eltariel replied. “There is some part of him that is still connected to the ring which draws him to it. That was why I had to remove it and hide it somewhere I thought no one would find it, much less look for it, while I tried to find a way to destroy it. When I returned to check on it, the ring was gone and several generations of men had risen to power in my absence claiming to be gods.”

“I’m sorry.” Jim replied. “It must have been terribly difficult.”

“It was.” She replied. “My duty demanded that I not return to the Lady Galadriel with my mission unfinished. I could not answer the call and travel into the west until everything was completed and Celebrimbor was put to rest.”

“She made you stay here?” Jim asked, wondering how the Lady depicted in the book and films could be so harsh.

“No. She bade me return regardless, but I couldn’t just leave him like this unable to pass on.” Eltariel told him. Her voice then took on a more hopeful tone, “Because of you, I might now have that chance.”

“I read what Sauron did to him in Tolkien’s works.” Jim then told her after a pause. “Because he forged the Elven rings without Sauron’s knowledge. It was horrifying. He shouldn’t have had to suffer as he has.”

“I agree. That is why I have stayed. I will see him released from his fate, James Frudd, even if I must travel to the halls of Mandos to do it. He deserves that much at least.” Eltariel replied.

Not long after these last words were spoken, Estel and Sam returned with meal boxes from the KFC. The Numenorean got into the driver’s seat while Sam joined his best mate once more in the back. The drive was relatively quiet for some time after as they continued on towards the French port of Le Havre.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

In the Atlantic Ocean heading westbound towards South America…

Jim had never been on a cruise ship before. He’d seen advertisements for them of course on the tele, but he’d never really had the inclination to try one. The advertisements always showed lots of people swimming in a pool, dancing, children running across a deck chased by frolicking grandparents, and so on. All of these things were precisely the reason why he’d never been keen on boarding one. He never saw himself as anti-social, but the images of the cruise ships he had see were, well, _too_ social for him. They made it look like you were trapped in a theme park for a week with thousands of other people all wanting to talk with you, dance with you, and intrude into your personal space when you weren’t looking.

He was delighted to discover that travel by cargo freighter was none of those things. On board the _Marie Antoinette_ , there were precisely four passengers, and everyone else on board was part of the crew with a job that didn’t involve bothering him or his companions in the slightest. There was, in fact, a swimming pool on board, as well as a sauna, and their cabins were quite spacious compared with what he had heard about cruise ship cabins. They took meals with the crew, who were amiable enough, and frequently dined with the freighter’s captain, Francois du Marteau, for supper. There were, of course, the stacks upon stacks of shipping containers which towered over the main deck from bow to stern, port to starboard, but that was much more preferable to the introverted Englishman than an altogether too cheerful “fun” coordinator with a checklist of all the “fun” activities in which he would be otherwise expected to partake. No, he found that he much preferred the metal stacks and honest, profanity laden, rough cargo ship’s crew to the amenities of a traditional cruise ship.

During those three weeks, when the four weren’t plotting out their next moves for when they docked in South America, Jim had the time to do the thing which he enjoyed the most and that was to sit and read. In particular, he had acquired a new Kindle e-reader in Frankfurt before they left, having left his own at his house in England weeks before. When he saw it within one of the shops, he realized how much of a boon it might have been to have given his extensive and, given his current mission, _relevant_ library with Amazon’s service. The model he purchased, like the one he left at home, wasn’t one of the fancy back-lit tablets mind you that you could use for music, videos, games, and so on, but one of the simpler, more elegant dedicated e-ink devices that was made for one thing only: reading. He had fortuitously the wherewithal to download his entire Tolkien and mythological library from his Amazon account onto the device at the hotel before departing using its own internal free wireless connection. It wasn’t the same as having his well worn hardback, and in some cases leather bound, hard copies of course. He missed the smell of the combination of real ink and old paper, but it was far more economical in terms of space.

It was somewhat funny when Sam asked him if re-reading Tolkien’s works in all this was just a little redundant, but he found himself wanting the refresher for any insigh the great linguist’s “translations” could provide for their venture, including and especially some of the more obscure ones. He of course knew _The Lord of the Rings_ and _The Hobbit_ as well as anyone, and better than most. But there was also _The Silmarillion_ which was relevant, _The Book of Lost Tales,_ _The Fall of Gondolin_ , and others which were compiled from the man’s notes by his son posthumously. Any or all of these might give him just that much more knowledge which he didn’t have before, and which he could not research on the internet in the middle of the Atlantic as such connections were spotty at best, and most of the time, non-existent.

Eltariel was never far from him, or the ring he carried. She considered herself his bodyguard, and she took the duty seriously. Frequently, he wondered if she was going stir crazy having to watch him read for hours whether on deck when the weather at sea was fair, or below deck during the Atlantic storms that did nothing good for his constitution. But as he occasionally glanced at her, he noticed a distinct difference in her disposition within a few days of setting to sea and heading west. There was a longing which appeared in her eyes, and a new vibrance which he didn’t understand. Some of the sadness which he had seen in her eyes lifted, and was replaced by a hopefulness. Instead of looking up from his reading to see the pretty warrior Elf woman bored or twiddling her thumbs, he found her standing and gazing ever out across the water at some point in the distance only she could really see, and appearing to hear voices that were for her hooded Elven ears alone. At one point, he would have sworn he heard her whisper something in Sindarin which he still didn’t understand. Jim later discreetly inquired from Estel what the words meant, and discovered that she had replied to those unseen, “Not yet, but soon.”

Estel spent many of those hours he was not with Jim, Sam, or Eltariel alongside the captain himself, catching up on old times as it were. As it turned out, Captain Francois was the most unique ship’s captain he had ever heard of in his life. He had short cropped dark brown hair underneath a baseball style cap with the shipping lines’ logo, and long beard braided with silver rings at the ends within which ran streaks of silver. But what was truly unique about him was that he was the only ship’s captain with dwarfism he had ever seen. This doesn’t go to say that the man appeared weak or disabled in any way. Jim knew from various articles and documentaries, and from catching a few episodes of the American reality series _Little People Big World_ which had caught his eye that dwarfism in humans could cause a number of medical problems, and often resulted in premature death. Somehow, he just couldn’t imagine this man having such issues though.

Francois was stocky and thick around his short arms and legs, and his arms in particular were heavily muscled as though he spent all of his off hours bench pressing his ship’s cargo containers. His hands were calloused and hard. The lines around his eyes and forehead dictated a middle aged man in his late forties or early fifties who had led a hard but good life, and he was almost never seen without a pipe between his teeth and lips. The other oddity about the man which he never thought characteristic of dwarves was his rich, baritone voice with which he used a decidedly French accent when speaking English.

Jim had a curiosity about how Estel had come to know the seafaring dwarf so well that he’d be willing to take him and three strangers on board no questions asked or fare required, and under what circumstances. The Englishman asked him about it one evening at supper when it was just the five of them. They were served roast duck, peas, mashed potatoes, and several other side dishes along with beer which the captain himself drank copious amounts of. It was another curious thing until that conversation that the sheer amount of alcohol the man could drink never addled his wits in the slightest.

“How much do you know about our _cher_ friend, _mon ami_?” The dwarf replied to him, his eyes glancing at both Estel and the door to the captain’s mess which had been closed by the chef for their privacy.

“With regards to?” Jim asked for clarification, not quite understanding what he was expecting in response.

“I mean, how much do you know about _l’histoire de famille_ of this man, and where he comes from?” The captain politely clarified.

“Well, if you mean his ancestry and his, er… grandmother, well Sam and I have both been thoroughly introduced.” Jim replied. “The Lady Arwen is quite a lovely person.”

The captain then let out a sigh, and his face brightened a little more as though relieved. “Well then, that makes things easier, _n’est ce pas_?” He then addressed Eltariel, “All those present have been, shall we say, initiated either by virtue of our birth or friendships, why then don’t you let your lovely ears breath a little, _ma chere_. _Pour certainement_ it cannot be comfortable to keep them under wraps all the time.”

Eltariel smiled and complied, removing her hood and allowing her hair to flow out down her shoulders, and the tips of her tapered ears to peak through it.

“Ah, _tres belle pour une belle_ _elfe_.” He said with a gentlemanly politeness, to which Eltariel blushed just slightly.

He then turned his attention back to the two Englishmen who themselves were now all ears at what he was about to tell them. “Estel saved me from German SS during the war, and no I’m not ashamed to admit it. The bastards thought I was easy pickings at my home in the alps. They learned differently at the end of my ax, but there were too many of them even for me. Ten of them had me on the ground, twenty of their _compatriotes_ dead or maimed with their blood on my ax surrounding us, with a pistol aimed at my head, and at least five bullet wounds in me already. And then this handsome devil,” he slapped the Numenorean’s knee jovially, “appears out of nowhere wearing mismatched combat gear scoured from Axis and Ally alike, and finishes them off with those short swords of his before they knew what was happening. I still thank God the American unit he was working with at the time was passing through.”

“It was more like four,” Estel corrected him, “and there was only one wound to your ax arm as I remember. You’d never encountered a firearm before that point.”

“Ah, but who’s telling the story? Hmm?” Francois protested. “I say it was ten and five. My version makes you more _heroique, n’est ce pas?_ ”

“So, you’re from the French Alps then?” Sam asked, all the implications of the captain’s story not sinking in quite yet.

The captain gave a somewhat patronizing smile and responded as he took yet another swig from his sizable beer mug, “You could say that.” He then added, “You would also be right in saying that I’m from _under_ the Alps.”

“From _under_ the Alps?” Sam repeated quizzically. A light then went off in the grocery clerk’s head and his eyes went wide, “Wait, so you’re a… that is to say, you’re not, er… I mean…”

The captain laughed and slapped Estel hard in the arm as he gestured to the Englishman. It was a good, hearty laugh which one might not have been surprised to see the glimmers of tears for it, and indeed there was a twinkle in his eye as he looked at him.

“You’re one of the folk from under the mountains.” Jim then said with a kind of wonder, having put the pieces together faster. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised at such things by now, but still, it was something he hadn’t expected. “You’re one of the _Khazad_.”

“ _Oui_. _C’est moi_.” Captain Francois replied gesturing merrily to himself with his calloused hands.

He then addressed Sam saying, “And no, my English friend, I’m not one of your kind. I’m just one of the few of mine that’s ventured out to the open air in recent memory to experience the world above. I was just a youth when the Germans found me out in the open, barely thirty years old. I’d just come out of one of our older tunnels to the surface a few years before and decided I enjoyed something more than rock, metal, and stone. I chose to build a small cabin closer to the foot of the mountain where the trees were.” He then whispered conspiratorially to the Elf woman, “ _Pour certainement_ I am a strange one among my own, _n’est ce pas_?”

Eltariel smiled, nodding in playful agreement.

“How did you learn French?” Sam asked.

“I picked it up from the locals around where my cabin was. I will tell you, the French could be quite rude to dwarves in those days, either your kind or mine. They still can be. But I needed to be able to talk to my neighbors, now didn’t I?” Francois answered, then adding with a touch of sadness, “Now, I barely remember my mother tongue, _Khuzdul_ , I’ve been gone so long.”

“And you became a sailor?” Jim asked with some disbelief.

“That I did!” The captain replied. “I wanted to see more of this great big world, and as I had eventually made my way out to the coastline, it seemed like that was the best way to do it. I’ve been on ships now, oh, for maybe seventy years or so. I heard the call of the sea and found my true home at last.”

“So then, there are still more of your people?” Sam asked, still trying to comprehend.

“ _Oui_ , there are great cities still under the mountains and deep in the earth which your kind know nothing about, though your folk seem to keep wanting to drill deeper and deeper so maybe one day you and they will rediscover one another. But my people don’t venture into the sunlight with the odd exception such as myself. The forges of the dwarves still burn as bright and as hot as they ever did.”

Both Jim and Sam were silent at the thought of great cities like _Khazad-dum_ and _Erebor_ not only being real, but still present up to this very day, existing alongside and underneath metropolises like Paris, Berlin, and Geneva. It was such a thought that they could do so and the world above totally oblivious to it. Neither the Elf woman nor the Numenorean treated this as new information, or seemed surprised in the slightest at the revelation.

Finally Sam half-jested, “I don’t think I’d be surprised now if one of the wizards was still walking the earth. I feel as though I’ve been sucked into the game or books, and I can’t get out.”

If the comment offended anyone, none present made any sign of it. Francois just grinned and replied, “Truth is always stranger and more wonderful than fiction, _n’est ce pas, mon ami_?” Eltariel and Estel exchanged knowing glances, but said nothing openly.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Jim said, quoting Hamlet.

“ _C’est vrai_.” Francois approved. “Now, enough about me and mine. Have you figured out where you’re going to go once I drop you folks? It’s not like Cayenne is right next door to Costa Rica.”

“At this point, the plan is to hire a small plane and fly into San Jose if we can.” Estel answered him.

“ _Oui_ , that might work. Except you’ve no idea if there’s a plane to be hired once you get there. I would guess there should be, but I wouldn’t put _all_ my hopes on it. Also, won’t this ring wraith be expecting you to do that?” The captain responded as he pulled out his pipe, packed it, lit it, and took a long draw from it.

Seeing this, Jim pulled out his own and joined him, filling the air with the aroma of scented tobacco smoke. It felt good to be able to do so again. There were so many places now, and people, that tended to look at one with disapproval for just having a good smoke.

“Couldn’t you drop us off in Costa Rica on the way to your port?” Sam asked.

“ _Impossible, mon ami_. I wish I could, but it would take us at least a week if not more out of our way, and while I captain this beauty here, she’s not mine and neither is the cargo. It has to be in Cayenne within a certain amount of time. The owners wouldn’t be very happy with me for failing to make our deadline because of a little _excursion personelle_.” Francois explained as though he had thought about the possibility himself in depth.

“What about driving it? It’s all the same landmass right?” Jim then asked. “This is the modern world. Surely there are roads between our port and where we need to be.”

“If you can call them roads, _mon cher Anglais_. More like dirt paths through the jungle, and there’s a lot of jungle to get through.” Francois told him. There are paved highways, _pour certainement_ , but they don’t all necessarily connect between countries down there, at least not to where you’d like them. That’s not to mention the local, and I loosely use the word, ‘authorities.’ You’re almost better off getting a riverboat for parts of it than you are for using an _auto_. There’s also the problem of getting between Colombia and Panama. There are no roads at all across the Darien Gap between them. Travelers have to fly their _autos_ from one country to the other. To tell you the truth, _mes amis_ , it may take weeks just trying to use the roads even up to that point.”

“Have you ever been through there?” Sam asked, noting the dwarf’s familiarity with it.

“Parts of it over the decades. I’ve had to pass through the canal with my freighters of course. I’ve docked at many ports of call throughout the Caribbean and down towards Rio. I’ve taken shore leave into the interior once or twice just to see it, but I’ve never taken the kind of excursion you’re talking about if that’s what you’re asking.” He answered.

There was silence for a while as they thought on his words. Then he took another long draw from his pipe, let the smoke escape from his nostrils, and had the expression of another thing he had just thought of. “What kind of currency are you carrying, _mes amis_?”

“Euros and cards.” Estel replied before the others could.

“You may want to visit a _banque_ and acquire American dollars if you can when we get into port. Like it or not, most of the locals will accept those faster than they will their own national banknotes. Those selling services under the table, _doublement_.” Francois told him. “Some might recognize the euros, but everyone knows the dollar. It is the de facto _monnaie internationale_ in the Americas.”

“So noted.” Estel responded, grateful for his friend’s insight. In truth, never having ventured into the Western Hemisphere, it hadn’t occurred to the Numenorean that the euro might not be recognized as well as the U.S. currency.

“I wish you luck in your quest, _mes amis_.” The dwarf told them all. “I truly do. I wish you did not have to make this journey at all. Between drug cartels, diseases, and jungle beasts, there are real dangers in that part of the world that do not need to include ancient magic or monsters. It would break my heart to see any of you come to harm trying to travel across that spread of country.”

He told them this with such sincerity, and a real expression of pain at the thought that Jim realized the dwarf genuinely cared for everyone sitting at his table. His expression was endearing and avuncular, and made the Englishman appreciate the ship’s captain all the more.

“Eltariel and I are not without skills, and we are not traveling unarmed.” Estel reminded him.

“I of all people know this, _mon ami_. But this is a terrain you do not know, with customs and people with which you are unfamiliar. That can make all the difference. This is not the Aman of our ancient legends. The Valar no longer rule there, at least not that anyone can see. There is very little rule of law at all outside of the cities, and what there is in the cities is frequently corrupt. Little can be accomplished without bribing one official or another. _Vraiment_ , for many of them, it is the only way they can get paid wages that are not worthless. Many are _tres pauvre_.”

“It sounds awful.” Sam commented.

“ _Oui… et non._ ” He replied. “There are many good people who want nothing more than you yourself, _mon ami_. But centuries of bad government, and interference from, shall we say, more influential nations have destroyed much that they tried to build for themselves. People get desperate and turn to whatever they can to feed and provide for their families. If that means such _activites_ as are less than legal, well…” He spread out his hands with a gesture which left little for them to imagine what he meant. “People will do what they feel they must. It is a terrible fact, but a fact nonetheless.”

The supper continued on after that with a chocolate cream pie and coffee, but the captain had given the four companions much to consider as the ship continued towards its destination.

* * *

Three weeks and two days after leaving the Channel waters between England and France, the _Marie Antoinette_ was tugged into the dock at the _Grand Port Maritime de Guyane_ in Cayenne, French Guiana. As its cargo was carefully and painstakingly offloaded by crane, its passengers said one last goodbye to their gracious and unusual host.

“I wish I could have given you four more help. _Vraiment_.” Francois told them as they held their luggage at the gangplank. “I would go with you myself if I could, but I cannot just abandon _mes_ _responsabilites_ so quickly, _mes amis_.”

“We wouldn’t ask any more of you, Francois. You’ve already been more than generous by giving us the transport you have.” Estel replied, clasping his right arm and hand to the dwarf’s in a manly grip. “I hope it doesn’t cost you too much.”

“Bah.” The dwarf replied dismissively with a gesture of his hands once they were released. “ _Je suis le capitaine_. I say who and what I take aboard this ship. No one else. If the owners have a problem with that, then they know they’ll get an earful from the best damn freighter captain they’ve got, and rightly so. All I need to do is make one telephone call to Maersk and I’m gone. They’ll not risk it.”

“Well, I for one had a lovely time, and I can honestly say you are the finest gentleman of a ship’s captain I have ever met.” Jim told him.

“I’ll say. It’s been a better holiday than I’ve ever had. I’m just sorry I won’t be able to hear more about your adventures.” Sam added.

Francois blushed at this, and appeared speechless but his smile became broader at the Englishman’s words. “Well, er… _Merci beaucoup, mon ami._ ” He finally replied.

The dwarf then politely took Eltariel’s hand and, in a chivalrous fashion, kissed it lightly. “I will be sorry to see you go _specialement_ , _mademoiselle. Pour certainement._ I will miss your _lumiere tres incomparable_ brightening our darkened halls and decks. It has been the closest this dwarf may ever come to the truly divine.”

Then it was the Elf woman’s turn to blush as she withdrew her hand. “ _Merci, bon nain._ ” She replied in kind fluently. “ _Votre hospitalité a été merveilleuse.”_

“ _S’il vous plait_ , there is no such need for you to be so formal, _ma chere elfe_. Are we not all _la famille_ now?” He responded with an expression of chaste affection.

Then, with all their goodbyes said, the four began to head down the gangplank and onto the dock. As Estel turned to follow after Eltariel, Francois then caught his arm as though just remembering something. “Wait, _mon ami_. I almost forgot.” He dug into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a slip of paper with an address and a name and handed it to him.

“I do not know if he is still there, but there is a man I met once who is, shall we say, _tres initie_ to such affairs as ours. His knowledge of the things you face is both ancient and intimate. The last I saw of him, he was in Venezuela, but he tends to move around the rainforest throughout the continent. He has a certain vested interest in conservation, as I gathered. He would be one who could be a valuable ally in your quest. These days, he goes by _Senior Marron_ , or at least he did when I was _en vacances_.”

Estel gave him a quizzical look.

“You’ll understand when you meet him, _mon ami_. _Bonne chance_.” The dwarf told him.

The Numenorean thanked him one more time and then started down the gangplank one more time to catch up to his companions.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

In South America…

The moment Estel set foot on the pavement of the dock in Cayenne, it just felt… wrong. The air was humid and warm, almost oppressively so to the man who had lived almost all of his hundred and three years in Europe. The sky overhead was overcast with heavy dark gray storm clouds that threatened to pour rain at any moment. There was, in the climate itself, something that felt intemperate and uncomfortable to the Numenorean, but the sensation he received when touching the land with his booted foot was something different entirely.

It wasn’t something he could even explain to himself much less anyone else, but as he glanced at Eltariel he could see in her eyes that she felt it too. The two Englishmen seemed oblivious to the change as they looked around the docks of the South American city with no little tourist-like wonder at their first stop in the “New World.” Even as Estel said nothing and he and his companions set out for the customs and immigration office for French Guiana, the feeling did not go away but only grew stronger.

The only word which kept coming to his mind to describe the sensation he was experiencing was _broken_. The land beneath him was somehow broken and incomplete, like an essential part of itself was missing and all that remained was the hollow shell. His home in Germany, everywhere he had wandered in Europe and into the Near East, even the shattered remnants of Numenor itself in the Azores had still felt to him _whole_ and _healthy_ in a way this land did not. It was an undeath that was in the earth beneath him and even in the very air he breathed no matter how sweet or fresh it appeared to enter his lungs.

“Even Mordor itself did not feel as ill as this place does.” Eltariel finally spoke as they crossed the docks.

“The land feels hollow, like it only has the appearance of life when life has left long ago.” Estel agreed with her, thankful that she had broached the subject first.

“It remains only as a shade of its true self, and little else.” The Elf replied, a sadness in her voice. “We must be more cautious here than we ever were in Middle Earth. Dark things have taken root since this land’s sundering of form and spirit like worms to a corpse. I feel it everywhere.”

Hearing the exchange, Jim asked, “Whatever do you mean?” He sniffed at the air and experienced nothing but the exhaust of the dock machines and vehicles mixed with the warm, salty ocean air. Nearby seagulls cried out to each other as they watched the goings on in and around the water. “It seems teeming with life to me if a bit overcast and unusually hot.”

Eltariel smiled at him sadly and stopped walking to gesture around her as she replied, “You are still very young, James Frudd, and you haven’t yet learned to hear and feel the earth around you. There is a spirit or, how do you say, an _energy_ to the land, the trees, and all things that live within and among them. The energy here in this land is all wrong.”

“Wrong? How?” Sam then asked having stopped like the other two men when she did.

She looked as though searching for an explanation until she hit upon something they might relate to. _“_ In this age, a man may die and yet his body be kept alive through the use of machines. His spirit is gone, but he still appears alive and breathing. So too is this place. This… Aman.” She gestured towards the ground and out into the interior of the country.

“You’re talking about brain death.” Jim answered, trying to understand. “You’re saying that the Americas are brain dead, so to speak, and only appear alive.”

“That would explain a few things.” Sam quipped in response.

“The land is, yes, in a manner of speaking.” Estel answered for her, but smirking somewhat uneasily at Sam’s flippant comment as well. “I felt it the moment I stepped off the gangplank.”

“As did I.” Eltariel added. “And evil things have take root here in the absence of its true life.”

All the news reports and documentaries Jim had seen or glanced at about the Americas, as well as both their ancient and more recent, modern history came forcefully to his mind with his friends’ words. It did seem like there was always some kind of rot happening somewhere in the western hemisphere no matter how well intentioned its people might have been at the time. There were the great Aztec and Mayan civilizations that built grand cities, had calendars and artistic, complicated writing systems, and powerful cultures. But these were also built on dark religions of human sacrifice and slavery. There was the exploration and colonization period which came at the cost of millions of native lives through disease and mass slaughter by European soldiers. Even today, as well intentioned and charitable as the United States had historically been, there had been the persistent reminder in the news media of its inherent, sometimes violent racism against the descendants of its former slaves, natives, and even its southern neighbors which always keeps it from achieving its highest ideals. The corruption of the governments from Argentina to Mexico was legendary, and the northern nations were proving themselves not immune to it as of late. And, as Captain Francois reminded them, the illegal trade in narcotics from Central to South America is supplied by poor farmers just trying to feed their families with a reliable cash crop and driven by customers farther north who are themselves trying to find an escape from their own pain and despair. All of these things ran through the bookshop owner’s mind.

_Yes indeed. Evil things have taken root in this land_ , he realized, and then it hit him how profoundly tragic it really was considering what Tolkien had written of Aman and its lands of Valinor and Eldamar where the two trees which had originally given light to the world had been, and all of its former glory.

Jim felt his eyes misting over for the thought.

“I suppose I’d never looked at it that way before. Perhaps Sam _was_ right. Perhaps it does explain quite a bit about what goes on here, and has gone on here in the past.” Jim then managed to say, controlling his impulse to weep for it.

“Are you saying the Americas are cursed then?” Sam asked.

“Not cursed.” The Elf woman corrected. “It is more like… gangrene or cancer which has spread throughout.”

“Does it have anything to do with that thing around Jim’s neck?” Sam then questioned aloud.

Jim noticed that his best mate had begun calling Celebrimbor’s ring “that thing” more frequently now. It was always with a tone of disgust, as though he wished he’d never laid eyes on it for real. Jim couldn’t say he didn’t share that sentiment.

“I wish it were that simple, but no.” Eltariel responded. “This began long before the ring was forged. Destroying it will solve many problems, but the living death of this land is not one of them.”

They then moved on to the customs and immigration office where Estel exchanged a few words with the officers in his fluent French, and they were permitted entry with few questions or hassles in spite of the long two handed sword which was a part of Estel’s personal luggage. Jim had not actually been aware of it until just then, but even though they were in the western hemisphere, French Guiana was considered a region of France and part of the European Union. It was no different immigration-wise than if they had simply traveled from Paris to Avignon. The Englishman also thought he saw his friend slip the officials some rather large denomination euro banknotes as well, no doubt greasing the wheels of efficiency for them.

After that, they were on their own in what was, legally, a part of France that just happened to be in South America. But it was like no part of France or Europe Jim had ever laid eyes on before as they found a taxi and made their way into the larger city.

For the first part, the city looked, well, more run down than any city in Europe he’d ever seen. It looked as though it was built to resemble a more Mediterrainean town with its red roofs and cream colored buildings, but the maintenance had been let go in much of the areas he saw. He imagined the stains on the cement walls and buildings had much to do with the humidity, but still. Most buildings didn’t exceed more than three stories, and the architecture to those which appeared in the best condition could be described as distinctly French colonial. Palm trees dotted the city’s green spaces, and the verdant hues of a lush and expansive rainforest was always in view to the south and west. Many of those people he saw on the streets wore light, frequently dingy clothing that even from the taxi appeared second-hand at best, but there were a few that appeared better off who favored bright colored raiments. What children he saw rarely wore shoes of any kind.

Finally, and he would never have considered himself a racist mind you, but nearly every person he saw had a lustrous dark brown skin color, and appeared to be descended from the African slaves which had been brought there during darker times in the French province’s history. After these there were many of a cocoa hue whom he could only imagine were descended from the natives to this land. There were, in fact, not many ethnically French people on the streets of the South American city at all. It was the thing which most demonstrated to his mind, beyond the climate and scenery, that he was no longer anywhere in Europe, regardless of French Guiana’s legal status. Certainly there were people of varied descents in England and the better part of the European Union, being both civilized and cosmopolitan as those countries were, but they were still predominantly _European_ in terms of their ethnic makeup. That was simply not the case in Cayenne. There was nothing _wrong_ in it, but it just felt _alien_ and reinforced that, here, he and his companions were the foreigners and outsiders.

Upon Estel’s request, the taxi dropped them at the _Logis Motel Beauregard “Cric Crac.”_ This appeared to be a collection of separate yellow colored bungalows lining a not quite neatly paved walkway. Fortunately for them, all of the rooms had air conditioners which made actually living and sleeping in the bungalows possible while the companions worked out what their next steps would be. The following day, Estel took Francois’ advice and exchanged part of his European banknotes for United States currency, though he made sure to keep at least half of his cash as euros for their stay in Cayenne until they continued on.

As it turned out, their first plan of hiring a plane or booking a flight from Cayenne northwest to Costa Rica was a non-starter from the get-go. There were no direct flights on any commercial airline from Cayenne’s smallish airport to anywhere but France, Brazil, and the islands north of French Guiana. As for hiring a private plane, well, there had to be a private plane to hire and so far, either all of the charter flights were booked solid for the next month, or no one they had spoken with was willing to fly it for any amount of money Estel offered. None of the pilots which were approached appeared to be willing to discuss why either, though Estel had mentioned he heard one of them grumble about not working for smugglers again and trouble with the Americans. They spent three days there tracking down reluctant pilots and making plans until that avenue was thoroughly exhausted.

Finally, on the fifth day, they boarded an overly packed, bright green bus before dawn to the western town of Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni on the opposite side of the Maroni River from Suriname. If they couldn’t fly to Costa Rica directly, then they would have to go overland until they could reach a faster mode of travel. It was the much less desirable and far more dangerous option, but there was nothing for it. Buying a Landrover in town was on the table until, upon consulting a map and Guianan locals, it was discovered they would have to cross the river by way of passenger only ferries which in no way could transport an automobile of any size. If they were going to acquire a car, it would have to be on the other side of the Maroni in Suriname.

The four hour bus ride felt much longer to the Englishman. Their Guianan fellow passengers with whom they were crammed in like sardines were friendly, overly so to Jim’s mind. They had wide, bright smiles in spite of their apparent poverty, and were somewhat interested in the _tourist_ _e_ _s_ who traveled with them, though most did not attempt to make conversation. Estel, Eltariel, Jim, and Sam were also not the only foreigners on the bus. There were a number of college age men and women traveling as well who, from their French speech and first world dress appeared to be mostly from places in Europe and were on holiday. There were also two or three who spoke English with a distinctly American accent Jim thought might have been from either California or somewhere in the American midwest if any such representations in films were accurate.

Saint Laurent du Maroni appeared much like Cayenne had, though on a smaller scale from the port city. While it was not to the Englishman’s personal tastes, he wouldn’t want to live there permanently, he could see himself appreciating the antique colonial town for its quaintness and atmosphere. Nearby, and almost within view no matter where in the town they went was the aptly named Maroni River. It was, frankly, the most _brown_ river he had ever seen in his life, and this having lived most of that life next to the River Ouse back home. This river was the color of hot chocolate, and in no way looked clean enough to wade into, much less use as a potable drinking source.

It was almost noon by the time they arrived in the town, and none of them wanted to tarry for long there. After a very few inquiries, they were directed to the riverfront where the aforementioned ferries were beached and waiting for passengers.

Once Jim actually saw the boats they were to take, he decided “ferry” was far too generous of a term. He associated this word with the large, comfortable barges which could haul passengers and automobiles alike between England and France, or Britain and Ireland. These craft more resembled the boats used for rowing competitions if such boats were doubled in size, motorized, and covered to keep out the rains which were warm, heavy, and frequent as he had learned since disembarking from the freighter. Like with everything else he observed upon coming to South America, they were also run down and obviously well used.

Upon shoving off from the beach, Jim decided they were obviously less _stable_ than the ferries back in England as well. Or rather, his stomach decided the boat was not all it was cracked up to be. Looking to his companions however, he noticed none of them appeared to be having the slightest trouble. Sam appeared to be enjoying himself immensely as the boat sped from one shore to the other, while the Numenorean and the Elf woman appeared almost bored as though this was something they did every day.

The expressions on his companions’ features sobered him more than he thought they would. They were, at the very least, comfortable with their journey so far if not outright enjoying it. Even, and perhaps especially Sam looked wide eyed with wonder at the experiences they had been given since… since the anniversary of his aunt’s death.

In all that had happened over the last two months to him, he had nearly forgotten the day which had started all of it. What would his aunt and uncle have said about all the adventures he had been on since meeting Estel and his unusual family? Would they have been as resistant as he to enjoying them?

_I have been on a considerable number of adventures since then, haven’t I_? Jim thought to himself as he remembered the journey from Goole to Brussels and the confrontation in the parking garage with men who intended to kill them. Surely that had never happened to him before? Meeting not one, but two living breathing Elves! Learning and experiencing Tolkien as living history instead of fantasy! What would his uncle have said had he witnessed his nephew negotiating with eleven thousand year old ghosts in the Azores? Or helping defeat a ring-wraith with a baptismal of all things? Or sailing on a freighter to South America with the intention of destroying a magic ring in a volcano still a thousand miles away?

_What would he say?_ Jim wondered.

As it turned out, he knew exactly what his uncle William (“Billy” to his friends) would say. It was the same thing he said with his trademark impish smirk when Jim had expressed reservations about going off to Cambridge and leaving them their alone. “You’ve got to live your own life, Jimmy boy. It’s one thing to read about adventures, but you need to get out and have a few of your own. I’m proud of you for what you’ve accomplished getting into that school, but I’ll be prouder still if you can go beyond the books and cause a little mischief of your own. The good kind, that is.” And this from the man who had first instilled Jim’s love of the written word.

His uncle William had been from Belfast in Northern Ireland, and when Jim was younger had confided in him his part in the troubles there in his youth. It was all in the past, but his uncle’s own adventures and misadventures had seemed both fascinating and terrifying to the impressionable, introverted boy and there were many a night after that as a twelve year old where he wondered if MI-5 was going to come knocking on their door to apprehend a man who had clearly been a threat to British sovereignty in his heyday.

In his mind, remembering his uncle, he imagined he could hear his uncle’s voice just then telling him once again, “Look at you, Jimmy boy! Causing a bit of the good kind of trouble at last! I’m proud of you!”

“What’s the smirk for?” Sam asked, his own eyes bright and cheerful. “You can’t actually be starting to enjoy this now, can you?”

“Maybe I’m starting to.” Jim replied, realizing that the troubles the boat gave his stomach had strangely subsided. “I was just thinking of my uncle, and what he would say to all this. He fought in the troubles with the I.R.A. He wanted me to get out and cause some trouble of my own.”

Sam’s eyebrows went up at the revelation. “Did he? You never told me that about him, before. Come to think on it, that’s the most you’ve ever told me about him.”

Estel’s ears pricked up at the conversation. “What was your uncle’s name?”

“William.” Jim replied. “But all his friends called him Billy, especially his older ones.”

“Billy Frudd?” Estel asked, scratching his beard in thought.

“No, Billy Hegarty.” Jim corrected. “He was my mother’s brother.”

A light of recognition went on in Estel’s eyes. “You had an extraordinary uncle, Jim, if something of rascal. I knew him once upon a time some forty five years ago. As easy with a limerick and a laugh as he was in a fistfight. He introduced me to James Joyce and the Irish poets. He was a good man and a better friend. I always wondered what happened to him.”

Jim stared at Estel blankly, processing this new information. “You knew him? You knew my uncle?”

“If it’s the same man, then yes.” The Numenorean replied.

“How? I mean… How could you possibly have met him?” Jim asked. “He was in Northern Ireland and didn’t come to England until the mid eighties.”

“I was there too, following up a lead on the ring which didn’t pan out in the end. I fell in with some badly outmatched local men who were pinned down by British forces. I had just come from confession in a church when the Brits mistook me for an Irish republican and chose not to discriminate. One of those badly outmatched men was Billy Hegarty.” Estel explained.

“You saved my uncle’s life?” Jim asked in disbelief.

“Actually, it was the other way around.” Estel surprised him. “He saved mine from a British bullet that time, tackled me to the ground just as a soldier opened fire. I later returned the favor when a unionist attempted to stab him in the back during a brawl.” He responded, the look of a fond memory in his eyes. “Belfast was a different place then. I didn’t blame them for wanting their independence from Britain, as futile as it seemed. The Protestants there could be quite nasty when they wanted to be. I had hoped that he had lived through it and gotten out of there, for his own sake. Now I know he did. Thank you.”

“He met my aunt.” Jim managed to say, still somewhat in shock at the Numenorean’s tale. “He met my aunt and moved to Yorkshire where she had grown up, away from all of it where no one knew him. He told me some of his stories, but… but I didn’t know how much was true and how much wasn’t.”

“Knowing Billy Hegarty, about half of it was true, and the other half mostly so.” Estel remarked with a knowing smile. “I’m glad he as able to live his life. Many of them didn’t.”

The ferry boat made landfall on the Suriname beach and the four companions set foot on the shore of the town of Albina. As they were instructed, they immediately went to the immigration office to fill out tourist cards and get their stamps for entry.

The change in countries was immediately evident to Jim’s eyes. All of the semi-familiar French signs which he had seen, and French language which he had heard spoken were suddenly replaced with a quite honestly unfamiliar language which partially resembled German, but was clearly not. Around them, where French Guiana’s buildings looked run down, these looked downright neglected and stereotypical of what he had always imagined a third world country to be. Poverty was the norm as Jim could see in a way it hadn’t even been in French Guiana.

“What is that language?” Sam asked, looking at one of the signs.

“Dutch.” Eltariel answered. “Suriname was once a Dutch colony.”

“Well that’s unexpected.” Sam replied. “I guess I always imagined folks in South America to speak Spanish mostly.”

“Indeed. We may be at a disadvantage here. Dutch is not a language I’ve acquired.” Estel told them with a concerned expression.

“Never fear, _edhellen_. It is one which I have.” The Elf woman responded as they entered the immigration office.

Jim was glad for it too or else they might have been completely lost. Eltariel translated for all of them, tactfully flirting with the immigration officers to speed things along. They paid their fees with U.S. dollars which the officers were only too happy to accept, and were out the door within half an hour.

It didn’t take long for them to discover that the only place to inquire about acquiring transportation of any kind was Suriname’s capital of Paramaribo which was two hours away by taxi or minibus. Albina itself was a town of less than four thousand, and wasn’t really much more than a hub for the ferries across the river. They were lucky enough to stumble across one of the minibuses which had just dropped passengers and was about to head back to the capital. It was almost four o’clock in the afternoon by the time they reached Paramaribo and checked into a local hotel to plan out the next leg of their journey.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

In South America…

The matte black, 2005 Toyota Hilux with dual cab just looked like a vehicle which was built for driving across pitted and torn up jungle roads as it crossed the Brazil-Venezualan border. Luggage, water jugs, supplies, and spare gasoline containers were secured tightly along with four spare tires already mounted to their rims under a mostly waterproof tarp in the bed of the truck. Dents and just a few bullet holes decorated its sides and tailgate giving some hint as to the kind of journey its occupants had received so far. It had already been heavily customized for travel where highways were more of a fond wish and flooding was common when the four companions had purchased it privately in Paramaribo, Suriname the week before for $7000 US dollars in cash. The body had been raised, the tire tread was thick and meant for four wheel driving as a regular occurrence, and a long black pipe extended out of the front end and up above the driver’s door to allow the vehicle to keep running in high water. Flood lights over the cab and a wench and cage bar bumper only completed the overall feel that this truck, like any other South American creature, was only truly at home in the deep rainforest.

They had purchased the vehicle after, by way of certain fortuitous circumstances, they had been told of a Christian missionary family who were having to return to their home country in the United States for lack of funding. That family had been in the country for over ten years and the truck had been their principle means of striking out from the home they had made in the interior of the country to reach the more rural and less served areas with both the Gospel and needed education and medical aid. For this reason, the truck’s previous owners had been incredibly diligent with its maintenance and upkeep.

Jim still remembered the expression of gratitude which the husband of the couple gave. He was a light skinned man who was wearing torn and faded cut-off blue jeans, old dirty tennis shoes with no socks, and light, short sleeve button down shirt when Jim and Eltariel had met him to discuss the sale. The Englishman was also surprised to learn that he was both disappointed and heartbroken about having to leave his pro bono work in Suriname and pick up where he left off his career in the U.S. as a general practice medical doctor making six figures a year. His concern for the poorest in Suriname was both touching and poignant to the bookshop owner, and it was so sincere, he didn’t think he would ever forget it.

He also didn’t think he would ever forget the thieves who attempted to steal the truck from them, as well as any other valuables they possessed, just hours after they had made the purchase. He wanted to, but they had also left an impression in his mind. Eltariel and Estel had dissuaded them severely at the points of the blades they had kept well hidden on their persons, and the impoverished, would be thieves had fled. That had been only the first attempt while still in Paramaribo. Ironically, the further from the large city they traveled, the less crime it seemed they had to deal with.

Outside of the cities, their obstacles had frequently been delivered by mother nature herself, who apparently seemed offended that they would dare take a road trip through her nearly pristine rainforest. Rain and flooded roads seemed to be the order of every day, which, by the way, were adding up faster than their GPS map calculations said they were supposed to. All things being equal, they should have reached the Venezuelan border through Guyana and the northern part of Brazil in about three or four days from where they started. Instead, it took seven.

Oh, and let’s not forget about the less than legal Brazilian gold miners who strongly suggested with their rifles that the four of them move along quickly, thus the aforementioned bullet holes in the body of the truck. Jim and his companions had been passing through or nearly through what was, as he understood it, a reserve set aside for Brazilian natives when they inadvertently came across the miners’ operations. Estel had tried reasoning with them for civility in his fluent Portuguese, joined by Eltariel, but they had no desire to be civil. After that, the discussion was continued by gunfire in which Jim was certain at least three of the miners had been injured while they extricated themselves and their vehicle from the area.

But all that was, happily, behind them and, after some paperwork, and a few hundred well placed American dollars to encourage blind eyes to the more lethal hardware stowed in the truck, they crossed into Venezuela and were headed north along the highway past Santa Elena de Uairen. Their immediate destination was a small town along the Cuyuni River called El Dorado. It was where Captain Francois had written the location of the mysterious “Señor Marron,” whom he believed could be of some assistance to their endeavor. Four and a half hours after leaving the border they crossed a rusted and somewhat fragile feeling steel suspension bridge across the _Rio Cuyuni,_ and pulled into the town just before the sun began to dip into the west.

“So… How do we find this friend? I don’t see any signs naming the roads here to look up an address.” Sam observed from his seat in the rear cab.

“We ask the locals.” Estel responded. “It’s a small town. Chances are, someone will know where he lives.”

The first man the Numenorean attempted to ask was an older, short statured, brown skinned Venezuelan man who happened to just be talking with a group of similar men along the road. Estel had driven the truck up, and inquired from the group in a friendly manner in his clearly European learned Spanish. At first, the men had a good humor about them, and chuckled at his pronunciation. One of them muttered, “ _Un gringo de Europa_ ,” and another, “ _T_ _urista_ _s_ _? Aqui_ _en El Dorado_ _?_ ” but they were said in a good natured way.

But when Estel, who chuckled along with them in his own good natured way, asked about Señor Marron, the whole disposition of the men changed instantly. Their smiles faded, and one of them made the sign of the cross with a look of fear plainly written on his face as he whispered “ _Buscan el brujo_.” All of them denied knowing the man and urged the foreigners to move on and out of town quickly.

“Well that was odd.” Jim responded.

“Yes. We may have more trouble than I thought.” Estel agreed. “I heard one of them mention something about a witch.”

“A witch?” Sam asked.

“A warlock, _edhellen_. How long has it been since you’ve used your Spanish?” Eltariel said, addressing Estel.

“A while, _edhelvain_.” Estel admitted. “Still, that might complicate matters.”

And it did as he drove up and inquired from another man, then an older woman, and finally a group of young men who happened to be heading down the road. All gave similar reactions. All wanted nothing to do with either their quarry or them once they learned who they were looking for.

“Now what do we do?” Sam asked. “It don’t seem like anybody wants anything to do with the bloke we’re looking for.”

Just then, as they pulled the truck over to the side of the road to think, a bare foot girl of about nine or ten years with cocoa skin and long raven black hair ran up to the truck wearing a pink tee shirt and shorts. She caught Estel’s attention and asked in Spanish, “Are you looking for Señor Marron?”

“ _Si, muchacha_ _._ Do you know where we can find him?” Estel responded in kind through the driver’s side window of the truck.

“You give me twenty American dollars, and I will tell you.” The enterprising young girl told him.

Estel’s eyebrows went up at the offer, but he came back quickly with, “I’ll make it a hundred if you can take us there.”

The girl’s eyes went wide as she considered the offer carefully, but then she said, “No. Twenty for telling you. I’m not going there. It’s too dangerous even for a hundred American dollars. If you want to risk your heads, that’s your business. It’s safer for me if I just tell you.”

Estel had to smile at the somewhat mercenary cunning of the young girl.

“Fine then, I agree. Twenty American dollars. Where do we find him?” Estel asked, taking a U.S. greenback of the correct denomination out from a pocket in his shirt and showing it to her.

The girl nodded in a greement, then pointed northwest out of the town and into the surrounding forest. “The old man lives deep in the forest that way, maybe two or three kilometers. There’s an old path that leads there just of the north road out of town, but no roads.”

“ _Gracias, muchacha._ ” Estel told her, then began to hand her the banknote. At the last minute, he drew back his hand and said, “One more question. Why are the people in this town so afraid of him?”

Annoyed, the girl replied, “You’ll see when you find him. He’s a strange old man, a _gringo_ like you. No one knows where he came from, but he’s been there longer than anyone can remember. The animals in the forest keep everyone away from his house, even the soldiers. So do the trees. Now can I have my money?”

Estel kept his promise and gave her the banknote which she snatched from his hand quickly before running off. He then relayed what she told him to the two Englishmen.

“What did she mean by that? Just what sort of man is this we’re trying to find?” Sam asked.

“Good question.” Jim responded.

But there was a look in Eltariel’s expression as she considered the girl’s words which suggested a vague recognition and wondering. She then silently appeared to dismiss whatever thoughts she was having, and said nothing about any of it to any of them.

Estel turned the truck around and headed in the direction the girl told them. As they headed out of town to the north, a military green colored jeep with men in tan and dark blue uniforms reading “ _Policia Nacional Bolivariana_ ” began to follow them at a distance after investigating what the gringos wanted with the group of older men the companions had first spoken with.

The Toyota Hilux had been going down the dirt road for five or ten minutes when Estel informed the Englishmen of the police vehicle following them at a respectable distance. The matte, military green vehicle made no attempt to stop them, catch up with them, or flag them down, but remained behind them close enough to see where they intended to go.

“Well, shouldn’t we stop for them and see what they want?” Sam asked. “No sense getting in trouble with the authorities.”

“The authorities in this country _are_ trouble, Sam.” The Elf woman responded, keeping an eye on their low speed pursuers. “From what news I’ve seen on Venezuela’s state of affairs, it’s practically in a state of civil war between the president and the rest of the nation. The national government no longer has any real say in what happens, and the military and police only exist to keep the president in power, the people be damned.”

“Do you really think they’re following us?” Jim asked, uneasy. “Maybe they just happened to be heading this way for some other reason. It may have nothing to do with us.”

“We’re about to find out.” Estel then answered him as he spied an overgrown path breaking off from the dirt road and leading into the thick growth of the forest to the left of the road.

The sun was now well into its dive into the west, and the shadows around them were growing darker and thicker. Slowing down considerably, Estel had already hit his regular night driving lamps on the truck, but now made full use of the fog lights in order to take the Hilux into the darkness of the forest.

“Maybe we should turn back and get a room at that hotel we saw coming into town.” Sam offered, nervous at what they were attempting. “You know, try again when it’s light? We don’t know how far down the path this fellow lives, and there are, you know… dangerous animals in there.”

“We do that, and most likely we will lose not only the truck, but everything we’ve brought with us by morning.” Estel replied as he put the Hilux into 4x4 mode and plunged into the jungle. “People in this country are desperate, and hungry. You could see as much in the eyes of everyone we’ve spoken with. Ironically, our chances are better with what lies in the dark forest at night than with what waits for us in town.”

Estel drove the truck slowly through the brush, and those in the Hilux could feel every rock, tree root, and hole in the path as they crossed and bounced over them, leaving the health of the truck’s suspension system in serious doubt. Around them, leaves and tree branches scratched and got hung up against the sides of the vehicle as it passed through along what the local girl had euphemistically called a path. It was more like a hole in the brush not quite wide enough for a small auto which now had to grudgingly accommodate their matte black missionary beast with bright glowing eyes forcing its way through.

Eltariel kept her own eyes on the side rear view mirror. It wasn’t terribly long after they entered that she saw what she expected to see. The headlights of the police jeep behind them entering the path and starting down it.

“We will have company when we reach the end.” She announced. “But they are having the same trouble that we are with this road.”

Estel said nothing in response, but continued to focus on what lay ahead of them, navigating the winding path which only occasionally gave hints as to which way he should turn the wheel.

Jim remained silent through what seemed to be at first an eternity along the “path,” though he felt as stressed as any of them at what they were doing. He watched what passing scenery could be seen with the truck’s lighting through the windows, and his mind began to play tricks on him. Yellow luminescent eyes of many shapes and sizes occasionally flashed from within the forest that he could see. There were several times he could have sworn he saw ancient, gnarled faces in the tree trunks they passed. Once, he thought he saw a tree move in a very untreelike way as though it were moving its root to avoid them driving over it.

“Did you see that!” Sam then told him, pointing through his own window. “I thought I saw one of the trees moving!”

“My eyes are playing tricks on me too, Sam.” Jim answered, unnerved enough as it was without his best mate adding to it.

“No, I mean it. I could swear one of the trees was moving around behind us.” Sam insisted.

“It’s dark, and we’re all on edge.” Jim told him. “It’s not exactly a safe thing we’re doing right now, is it?”

“I could have sworn…” Sam then said, his voice drifting off as he conceded the point.

Not long after that, Eltariel told them, “Their lights have disappeared. I can’t see them behind us anymore.” Her voice held more concern than relief.

“Maybe they turned around?” Jim offered.

“There’s no room to turn around in along here. The trees are crowding us like they were putting us through a chute.” Sam returned.

“Sam’s right.” Estel agreed. “Something’s not right about this. The trees are spaced just wide enough to let us pass and no wider, and I can’t see the path behind us at all. We couldn’t turn around now if we wanted it.”

After another half an hour like this, they saw some dim yellow orange light through the forest ahead of them.

“Is that the man’s house do you reckon?” Sam asked, seeing the lighting. “Do you think we’re almost there?”

“I think that’s a safe assumption, Sam.” Estel replied as they drew closer and the house came more into the view of the bright lights of the vehicle.

They emerged into a small clearing in the forest just large enough for their truck to enter and park next to the strangest, ramshackle two story cottage they had ever seen. It appeared as if it had several tree trunks growing out of the center of it, and the windows through which the light could be seen were of uneven and odd shapes as though whoever built it had just thrown it together from leftover pieces of other houses of varying size and quality.

“I think we’ve found who we were looking for.” Eltariel pronounced as Estel shut down the truck lights and engine. Looking at the sight with her Elven eyes with a kind of vague or wistful memory, she then told the others sternly, “Stay in the truck until he comes to greet us.”

“What? Why?” Sam asked somewhat naively. “Shouldn’t we find the door and knock or something?”

“He already knows we’re here.” Eltariel told him, all of her senses alert. “He’s probably trying to decide what to do with us.”

Noticing Sam’s confused expression, the Elf woman then pointed into the darkness outside the truck. There, just outside the truck could be seen large, luminescent cat’s eyes and the outlines of their owners sitting and watching the Hilux patiently with a kind of curiosity only felines could seem to express.

“Jaguars.” Estel said. “They’ve surrounded the truck.”

The Numenorean began to reach for his pistol which was resting in its shoulder holster when Eltariel put a hand on his arm and said, “Wait, _edhellen_. They are just watching us. They are waiting for him to tell them if we are friends or not.”

“Are you serious?” Sam asked. “This man has trained jaguars?”

“They’re not pets. They’re friends of his, and they are deadly serious, Samuel Ogden. If you value your life, you will wait.” She returned.

They waited for almost twenty minutes like that until a door opened in the cottage and a softly glowing rectangle of door frame was filled with the outline of a large old man who just stood there as if still trying to decide what to do. A long flowing, graying brown beard spilled like a waterfall from the lower half of his face and down to his belt line. He appeared to be wearing long brown robes which looked distinctly out of place in the South American humidity. A long, gnarled wooden staff was in his right hand.

The old man stepped out of the cottage and walked through the number of big cats who continued to sit there calmly. When he approached them, the jaguar’s heads all turned to look at him, and one made a sound like a cross between a purr and a growl. If Jim didn’t know better, he would have sworn the animal was asking a question.

And then the man appeared to answer that question in kind in the animal’s own “speech.” The jaguar growled back, and the man replied again waving them all off until they darted off back into the forest and he was alone with his new, unlooked for guests.

“You can get out of your contraption, it’s quite safe, I assure you.” The man called out in perfect, unaccented English, beckoning them with his left hand. “They just didn’t know what to do with you. Honestly, neither did I, but you don’t look like much of a threat to me. Though I admit, I haven’t seen one of your people in a very long time, young lady. Certainly not on this side of the world as it is.”

His voice was cheery if somewhat awkward, as though he were unused to the company of other people.

“Hang on, he speaks English?” Jim questioned.

“And I can hear you just fine too!” The old man announced. “Of course I speak English. It wouldn’t do you lot any good if I didn’t, now would it?”

The Englishman stared blankly at the old man through Sam’s window in surprise.

Eltariel was the first to open her cab door and step out onto the dirt, moss, and natural detritus of the forest floor. She took a deep breath and inhaled, seeming invigorated as she did. The others followed her lead, unsure and uncertain as to what to expect at this point. But Estel had been right, nothing about this felt right in the sense of being _normal_.

Jim came to stand next to the hooded Elf woman who had drawn up to a sociable distance from the old man, as did Estel and Sam. He could honestly say, he’d never seen anyone quite like this old eccentric, and he had known a few from back home in England. He was taller than Jim, almost as tall as Estel, and built as though he might have been a powerful man at one point in his youth. Even in the darkness, there was a familiar, kind twinkle in his eye.

And then Eltariel spoke to him in Sindarin, and Jim understood nothing of what was said except one word which he was certain he misheard, “Radagast.”

“Please dear, speak in a language these poor men can understand. We don’t want to be rude, now do we?” The brown clothed man replied kindly before drifting back to the content of her words. “Radagast?” The man questioned, repeating the name as though trying to recall something. “Radagast.” Then, after a few seconds of looking this way and that as though the darkened trees might help jog his memory his eyes then brightened and he looked as though he had hit upon where he had heard the word before. “That’s right!” He responded in English. “That’s what they used to call me! Radagast the Brown! I haven’t heard that name for… well for a very long time. What age is it again?”

“It is the seventh age, wise one.” Eltariel replied with a humored respect. “As we have counted time.”

“The seventh age…” Radagast replied thoughtfully. “Has it really been so long?”

“Eight thousand years since Sauron’s fall.” Eltariel confirmed for him.

“Sauron, yes. That was dreadful. So many of my friends were hurt or made sick by his poisons and machines.” The old man replied. “I was not sorry to see him go, let me tell you.”

Both Jim and Sam stood there dumbfounded and in a kind of shock as the name which they both recognized immediately truly registered. Here standing before them was one of the five _Istari_ , a wizard of Middle-Earth. He was a lesser angelic being known as a _maia_ who had incarnated as a wise old man millennia ago to help and advise the people of Earth, and Middle Earth in particular.

“How did you come to be here?” Eltariel asked with a kind of wonder all her own.

“Well, after Gandalf left, and Saruman… well, I don’t want to talk about him, and I haven’t seen the twins forever mind you, I thought I’d stay a while longer and try and help the woods and animals recover from that awful war and nasty orcs. And then, as time wore on, I wanted to see Yavanna’s forests and gardens once more. But I didn’t feel I could leave the world just yet so I came here. It’s not the same as it was, no. But especially as of late, these woods and creatures have needed someone to help look after them what with all the commotion these evil men cause, cutting down perfectly healthy trees just minding their own business and hunting- _hunting_ those poor innocent animals for sport.” Radagast spat in disgust at the thought.

“Wait, wasn’t your mission supposed to be advising and helping the races of Middle-Earth, Men, Elves, Dwarves and such?” Sam asked bluntly. “How can you do that from here?”

“Well, almost all the Elves are gone, excepting present company of course, the dwarves went underground, and your kind speaks more than they listen don’t they? It does no good to give advice and counsel if men won’t take it, now does it? What’s happening in this country alone right now is proof of that.” Radagast responded.

“You know what’s happening in the world from way out here?” Jim asked skeptically.

“Of course I do. The trees tell me everything that goes on from one end of this Aman—oh I guess the call it America or some such thing now don’t they—to the other. The monkeys and birds occasionally tell me what happens too, although they like to embellish a bit more. The sloths are hopeless for news. That’s how I knew you were coming here, as well as those evil men behind you. Don’t worry about them, the trees stopped them and turned them around. They knew this young lady for what she was and allowed you all to pass because of her. They have long memories trees do. They remember and still tell stories of when the first born walked this land. At any rate, you’re quite safe among us here, I assure you.” The ancient wizard answered, rambling over his words as he did.

“Thank you, you are most gracious.” Estel replied in a courtly manner.

“You look familiar, do I know you?” The wizard asked, studying his face.

“I…” Estel wasn’t sure of how to respond.

“Ah, I know. You are one of Elendil’s descendants. You have his eyes for certain.” The wizard remarked. Then noticing Estel’s left hand he said, “And his ring!” But then going back to the matter at hand, he said, “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. What the trees could not tell me was why you have come to see me.” Radagast then stated. “Not that I mind the company, but I am, er, not quite used to your kind of visitors I’m afraid.”

“Show him, Jim.” Estel gently urged the book shop owner.

Jim then reached into his shirt and withdrew the ring on its chain and held it up in the darkness for the wizard to see. It glowed with a silvery blue light of its own, as sapphire colored energies gently danced across the engravings within and without its white silver circlet.

Radagast’s eyes went wide at the sight. “No…” he said. “It can’t be, can it?” He asked, looking to Eltariel and Estel for confirmation. “Gandalf said it was destroyed. Sauron was defeated. The two little hobbits… It cannot be.”

“It’s not.” The Elf woman reassured him. “This is a different ring, but made by Celebrimbor millennia ago for the same purpose. We are traveling north to Aule’s Forge to destroy it. We were told by a mutual friend that you might be able to render us help against those who would stop us.”

“A second ring?” Radagast questioned. “Oh dear, that does complicate things doesn’t it? Oh, I wish Gandalf had not left! He was always so much more knowledgeable about such things. I know nothing of ring-lore!”

“Can you help us?” Jim then asked, putting the ring back in his shirt. “There is a ring wraith waiting for us when we get there. We managed to defeat him once only to have him hounding us again within a day.”

“A ring wraith? My, this _is_ serious.” The wizard said. “Not the witch king, I hope. I heard he was destroyed by that girl from Rohan. Fitting. I thought.”

“No. This one is unknown to us, and appears to be newly made. Where the others are I don’t know.” Eltariel replied.

Radagast appeared to be thinking hard, considering their predicament and wrestling with everything it might mean. For a few moments, he almost looked like he might have a stroke from all of it. Finally, a determined look came over his face as he said, “Yes. Yes, I will help you. If Gandalf isn’t here, than Radagast will just have to do. I have some extra room in my house, I’m sure I can find some places for you to sleep if you need it. Please, come inside all of you and tell me everything. I will help you in every way I can.”


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Deep in the Venezuelan Rainforest…

Sunlight filtered through the cracks and crevices in the roof and walls of the room before it hit the shutters of the glassless window where Estel, Sam, and Jim had slept. Indeed the whole house in general, smelt of wood smoke, mossy wood, forest, and several animal odors which Jim at the very least hadn’t wanted to identify. The room itself was spartan with only a few, rough hewn pieces of furniture, but appeared to be intertwined with the trunk of at least one tree which snaked its way through the floor and around the wall until exiting again through the ceiling. Sadly, a real bed was not one of them, much less three. Radagast lived by himself where human companions were concerned, and if there was a bed fit for human beings in the house, it was reserved for him alone. Instead, they had needed to stretch out their sleeping bags retrieved from the bed of the Hilux over the equally rough wooden planks which made up the floor. It wasn’t the first time they had needed them since leaving Paramaribo in Suriname to be sure, but could be said to actually be one of those less comfortable.

Jim himself had not slept much that night, in spite of the brown wizard’s assurances that they were perfectly safe. Upon entering his residence, they were met with rats scurrying across the wooden floors freely, howler monkeys eyeing them suspiciously, and a sloth hanging from a rafter which opened one eye to gaze at them lazily before shutting it again unconcerned. The Englishman was convinced that those same rats were scurrying around them all night in their room. Between the hard wood beneath him and the sounds of tiny paws around him, Jim’s eyes remained open for most of the night.

As such, he had been given much time to think about where they had been, where they now were, and where they were going. If it hadn’t seemed completely mad before, there was no question about it now in his mind. His current state of affairs was absolute lunacy.

And to tell the truth, he found that he did not mind it as such. It was not his comfortable home in Goole. It was not his well worn and comfortable life in England. It was dangerous and could and probably would quite possibly get him killed at the rate they were going. But in the midst of all of it, in the darkness of the night with the sounds of the wildlife around him both outside the walls of the house and within, it occurred to him that this adventure he had been on with Estel, Sam, and now Eltariel was the first time he had truly felt alive since leaving home for his studies at Cambridge. As much as someone like himself and Sam really didn’t belong in that place and among such friends as he had made, it was the first time it felt as if he did.

These were his thoughts as the musty room around him began to lighten with the sunlight. Near him, he heard his slumber mates stir. He might have gotten up and turned on the electric light if there had been one. As it was, there wasn’t a light switch in the whole house. There wasn’t any electricity at all in the entire house either. No electrical outlets, no computer, no tele, nothing modern it seemed at all. Indoor plumbing seemed to be a relatively new concept to the Brown wizard as well who introduced them all at night to the single latrine which he maintained at a distance outside of the house. What running water he had was collected in a large barrel on the roof when it rained and ran through PVC pipes to a spigot on the side near the main door which the master of the house could then collect as he would for making tea or other necessities. Where he obtained the plastic piping and hardware to create the rudimentary plumbing was beyond the book shop owner, but the brown wizard seemed satisfied with it nonetheless.

Mulling it over, Jim decided to climb out of his bedding and open the unevenly carved shutters of the window, allowing the tree filtered sunlight to fully enter the room as it could. From that vantage point on the second story, he could see the clearing where the tree entwined house stood and their well used and battered truck parked not ten yards away. Not far from the truck was the thick line of trees which surrounded the clearing like sentries, their heavy, entangled roots making passage into it impossible without their leave. Radagast had explained as much to them, and it was yet another thing Jim had to admit into his list of things which were possible. Tolkien wrote of such things. He had encountered them in the online game he played. But to experience them, to see them in reality, that was a different matter altogether. Those trees he could see were not the Ents, the tree-shepherds such as Treebeard and his kind which were described in _The Lord of the Rings_. They were in fact, just trees, but they were trees which had been awakened, had minds of their own, and could move about as they would. In his game, and in Tolkien’s work they would have been called “ _huorns_ ” he remembered. Like the Jaguars which stood guard the night before, these huorns were not the brown wizard’s servants, but his friends. Their protection and benefits were mutual. Radagast saw to their health and well being, and they to his. Like Arwen’s enclave, the wizard and they were a small island of the mythological past in the midst of a world that had moved on, Jim mused.

He found himself smiling at the thought, and then just a little sad that the world _had_ moved on. How much richer would the world be if it knew about the awakened trees, the great dwarven cities underneath them, those few Elves which still walked among them, even his friend, the last heir of the lost island kingdom they knew as Atlantis? Would it be a better place? He wondered. He imagined that it just might be. Turning and looking at his friend briefly as he began to wake and stretch in his bag on the floor, Jim decided that it might have been an even better world, or at least Europe might have been a better Europe, had Estel and his forefathers been given the chance to rule as their ancient ancestors had. Maybe it was too generous and biased a thought, but it had become his opinion nonetheless.

Just then, his nose caught the whiff of something both savory and sweet drifting up to where he stood. His stomach began to rumble at it and he stepped out of the room and followed the scent downstairs to Radagast’s generous stone and earth fireplace and hearth in the central room of the house where some kind of meat which he could not immediately identify had begun roasting, and a collection of freshly picked fruit waiting in a carved wooden bowl on a simple but sturdy table. On a metal stand above the smoldering fire was a blackened, dented metal pot for coffee from which he could distinctly smell the strong odor of the hot beverage. This odor was mixed with the sweet scent of smoke which drifted from Radagast’s pipe as he sat nearby tending their breakfast as it cooked. It wasn’t the scent of tobacco, but of some other herb which Jim couldn’t identify.

“Good morning!” Jim told him upon seeing the brown wizard. “I see I am the first one up.”

“So you are!” Radagast replied, just a little startled at Jim’s appearance but friendly all the same. “I suppose a good morning in return is in order as well.”

“I… suppose so, yes.” Jim responded, just a little uncertainly.

“Swiftfang brought some of his kill from last night to share with you. I don’t normally eat meat, you understand. I know most of the animals around here, and that just wouldn’t do.” Radagast explained. “But his gift was so thoughtful I couldn’t refuse to cook it for you.”

“Swiftfang?” Jim asked.

“Oh, he’s a jaguar.” Radagast answered. “You met him last night, though he didn’t stay long after you arrived.”

“Of course. Better things to do I suppose.” Jim replied tactfully.

“Well, no. He wasn’t quite that rude.” Radagast answered. “He said he needed to go hunting. It hadn’t occurred to me that he was thinking of you four, but there he was not half an hour ago with a haunch of capybara neatly quartered to share with you folks. Don’t worry, I thanked him for you.”

Jim wasn’t certain as to what to make of the source of the meal the wizard had generously risen before dawn to cook for himself and his friends. He knew that a capybara was a type of oversized rodent, easily the size of a large dog or larger. He had seen one once in a zoo as a child.

“Thanks again to both you and him are in order then.” Jim told him.

Radagast smiled in response and nodded his head before returning to tending the meal. Jim stood there uncomfortably for a minute or two looking at the table and the chairs which sat around it before asking, “May I sit?”

“What? Oh, yes of course. Please, make yourself at home.” The brown wizard replied.

“Right. Thank you.” Jim replied, taking one of the chairs and making use of it.

Radagast made no further attempt at conversation for the moment, seemingly absorbed in his task. Jim’s eyes then began to wander around the spacious central chamber of the house. He noticed a large, intricately spun spider’s web in one corner of the ceiling with an equally large and rather fuzzy spider having positioned itself in the center. Not far from him and near the steps to the upper story was a monkey of some sort fast asleep. Birds’ nests were built and maintained by their occupants in random crevices and nooks all around and their colorful occupants were zooming to and from them through more open, glassless windows as well as cracks and holes in the walls which the wizard had neither thought nor bothered to patch. Against one wall there was a row of shelves with vials, jars, and bottles of various herbs, barks, and liquids which Jim had not the experience or understanding to identify. Every fixture in the house looked worn, well used, and weathered but also remarkably clean all things considered. There wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt to be seen anywhere. Even the aforementioned spider web and its companions around the ceiling were remarkably well maintained. There was a kind of harmony and wonderful balance in the seeming surface chaos of it all.

Returning his attention to Radagast himself, the old wizard looked to him like a sturdily built, somewhat tall old man with long flowing beard. He wore the same brown cloth and leather robes which he had the night before as he tended the roasting capybara which the wizard had no intention of eating himself. The wizard’s graying brown hair was bound up loosely in a fibrous cord as it spilled down his back.

“You’re not used to having visitors, are you, Radagast?” Jim asked.

“On the contrary. I have visitors all the time. Sometimes, it gets quite crowded and raucous in here, but I just can’t bring myself to make them leave. What would make you ask such a question?” The wizard responded with a puzzled look, gesturing to the sleeping monkey and the ever present rats that did as they pleased across the floor, but seemed to harm nothing as they did.

Jim pursed his lips, considering the wizard’s answer. He then tried a different question. “Why did the people in the town seem so afraid of you?”

“I’ve no idea. I’ve never done them any harm.” Radagast replied. “I didn’t know they were. Well, I take that back, now that I think about it. Greenwing told me something like that not long ago, but I didn’t believe her. Parrots can be such gossips you know.” The wizard smiled and chuckled as if sharing an inside joke with him. “Well, I don’t talk to them much anyway, so they can think what they will. Occasionally a child wanders too far into the forest and my friends and I will return them home before they get hurt. There was your dwarf friend on holiday not long ago, and a little girl recently. I shared some fruit with her before taking her home.”

“How recently?” Jim asked, remembering the girl who told them where to find him.

Radagast drew on his pipe and considered the question thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. A week? Maybe a decade or two ago? I don’t do well with keeping track of days and years. I’ve watched as my friends have sprouted or been born, have their offspring, and then return into the earth to feed the next generation over and over again. I’ve been saddened at their passing and filled with joy at their births.”

He spoke in a grandfatherly way, if that grandfather was just a bit muddled and sun touched. But there was a wisdom and a timelessness to the wizard which radiated from him in a way which Jim had never experienced from anyone. He then remembered that the man in front of him was not a “man” at all, but one of the ancient _maiar_ , an angelic being that had agreed to take the form of an old wise man to help the races of Arda, that is, Earth. There was a power to him which was extraordinary, and immense, but hidden under his humble, woodsy guise.

“You’ve seen a lot in your time here, haven’t you? I mean your time among us.”

“I have.” Radagast agreed, a kind of melancholy filling his eyes. “More than I would have liked to, I admit. Men, your kind, still have some goodness within them, but it has grown so hard to see at times, especially in this age.”

“You don’t like mankind, do you?” Jim asked, hearing something in the wizard’s voice when he said _your kind_ , reinforcing the fact that, despite his appearance, Radagast was not of the race of men.

Radagast thought on the question seriously. “I don’t _not_ like your kind. But it has grown very difficult to be around mankind without…” He trailed off, trying to choose his words.

“Without what?” Jim asked.

“Without losing hope for them.” Radagast finished. “What your kind does affects everyone in this world, and frequently not for the better. It is quite depressing to watch, not just for me, but for everyone else I have spoken with as well. Even the jaguars can’t understand why your kind would kill each other so freely, much less them, when there is no need. And the trees are beside themselves about their losses to men’s overzealous axes and fires.”

“Isn’t your house made of wood?” Jim pointed out.

“It is, from discarded pieces and ruins my friends found and brought to me from around the surrounding forests and towns. My new _Rhosgobel_. But your kind lately takes what they don’t need. It throws everything and everyone out of balance.” The brown wizard answered. “More and more, the men I see remind me of those foul orcs that once ravaged Middle Earth. It’s shameful, especially here where Yavanna once tended her gardens.”

Jim considered his words, wondering how he even got started on such a grave topic as this. “I’m sorry. I truly am.” was all he could think to say in response.

“Well, that makes at least two of us.” Radagast replied, puffing on his pipe once more. “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes, of course. Anything.” Jim returned.

“Are you certain you are not a hobbit, or at least half a hobbit?” Radagast asked.

Jim blinked several times at the question, his mind going blank from the absurdity of the inquiry. “As far as I know, no. I mean, yes. I’m quite certain. There are no hobbits anymore where I come from as far as I know.”

Radagast studied him for a bit. “That’s too bad. Gandalf really enjoyed his time with them, you know. As much as I enjoy my time here with my friends. You’re quite tall for one, but you and your friend, Sam, remind me so very much of them.”

Jim was literally speechless at his words and was thankful when he heard the sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs. Estel, Sam, and Eltariel all joined them.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. The capybara meat will still take some time, but there’s plenty of fruit on the table for breakfast. Please, help yourselves!” The brown wizard told the new arrivals.

“Is that fresh coffee I smell?” Sam asked as he joined Jim at the table.

“What? Oh, yes. It’s from local beans, I think. You can never be sure from where exactly monkeys get things you know, but they were at least kind enough to grind it for us.” He gestured to a stone mortar and pestel near the fireplace where the residue of dark brown bits of coffee could still be clearly seen, as well as a few other ground herbs which could not be readily identified. “There are mugs on the shelf over there if you want some. Please help yourself.” Radagast gestured to a shelf where a mismatched set of steins and mugs sat upside down.

“Thank you!” Sam answered as he went to go fetch a mug and gestured to the others to question if they wanted one too. Estel accepted, both Jim and Eltariel declined. The grocery clerk returned to the table and retrieved the hot coffee pot to pour its strong dark contents into them carefully before returning it to its metal plate in the fireplace.

Estel thanked Sam as he took the mug where he had seated himself at the table, and began to sip the hot liquid from it gingerly. Sam joined him while still standing.

“Have you any news since last night?” Eltariel asked the wizard.

“I have.” Radagast replied. “I am afraid that you were right about the ring wraith. Its presence is felt quite keenly among the animals and trees farther north. They were confused about it at first, but when I sent the message of what to look for, there was no doubt. What is more, it is no longer alone.”

“What do you mean?” Estel asked.

“Evil men surround it with their machines of death. According to the eagles that brought the news, they are doing what it says and following its orders. What is more, there is a cold shadow which has grown around Aule’s Forge which hasn’t been felt for… for a very long time. Unnatural things are happening there which are causing the animals to flee their homes. It is not a welcome place to which you will be traveling, young king.” Radagast told him.

“My family hasn’t ruled Middle Earth for ages.” Estel replied as tactfully as he could.

“But, your ring… That’s right. Gondor fell during the cataclysm. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Radagast told him with a genuine sincerity.

“Thank you.” The Numenorean replied with a smile, not having the heart to explain that it was thousands of years before he was born.

“At any rate, as I said, it is no pleasant situation in which you will find yourselves. I’m afraid it will not be as easy as simply walking up to the rim and throwing the ring into the caldera.” The brown wizard told them all. “And the eagles tell me the evil is spreading, corrupting even the trees around the Forge and twisting them. You will be facing no small or easy force.”

Grim expressions took hold of each of the companions around the table as they digested this news.

“The wraith has discovered our plan.” Eltariel was the first to voice it. “But how?”

It was Sam who answered the question. “We gave him a month’s head start didn’t we? Moreso by the time we arrive. It was just a regular man before. Even if he didn’t know anything about the history of the ring or where it came from before, let’s face it. _The Lord of the Rings_ is everywhere now, and he’s proven he’s not stupid, hasn’t he? He knew there was a reason why we were going there, and it wasn’t for a holiday. He could have easily caught one of the movies or even checked out YouTube while he was trying to figure out why we wanted to go to Costa Rica in the first place.”

“The Lord of the Rings? Movies? Now, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Radagast answered in confusion. “Did I miss something important?”

“That might be an explanation for another time, wise one.” Eltariel responded. “But I believe you’re right, Sam. It wouldn’t have taken much.”

“What about renting a helicopter, and dropping it into the caldera from the sky?” Jim asked, trying to work the question through.

“One of those flying machine things? Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea at all. Aule’s Forge has been smoking and active recently.” Radagast told them. “I’ve heard they don’t do well with it.”

“And we couldn’t be certain the ring would hit the molten rock and magma at that kind of altitude. We could lose it in the volcanic rock and dust for someone else to find later. It’s too risky either way.” Estel observed. “In order for us to see this thing done properly, it will need to be done from the ground.”

“Which means we need to get past an army to do it.” Jim observed.

“I don’t get it. What about the Costa Rican government? You’d think they’d have something to say about this.” Sam asked.

“Maybe the right people were paid enough to not say anything.” Estel returned, remembering their experiences in Latin America so far.

“We could distract them somehow.” Jim offered, his own expression somber and thoughtful as though one accepting his fate. “That’s what Aragorn and the fellowship did, wasn’t it? They kept Sauron’s eye focused on them while Frodo and Sam snuck into Mount Doom.”

“Aragorn had an army, Jim! Thousands of soldiers!” Sam responded. “It’s just us here! I’m not saying it won’t work, or that I wouldn’t go with you. You know I would, even though this is no game. I always have. But where are we going to get an army of our own?”

“That is a valid point, my young friend.” Radagast said.

Estel’s own expression became pensive for a few moments as he considered it. Then he said, “It seems history is fated to repeat itself with us.” He then sighed and said, “So be it. There might be a possibility, but I will need to be able to charge our satellite phone and make a call, maybe two.”

“Call? Who?” Sam asked.

“Home.” Estel replied, giving a knowing glance to Eltariel. She nodded in response, appearing to understand exactly what he meant. He then asked the brown wizard, “We could use your help and the help of your friends as well.”

Radagast took another long draw on his pipe before nodding in agreement. “Of course. You have my aid as long as you need it.”

“You’re saying you have an army you could tap for this?” Sam asked, unsure of whether he should doubt it or not.

“Possibly.” Estel replied. “The rest of my kinsmen are well trained warriors and soldiers. There are those few remaining of Eltariel’s people who may help if asked. We are still a week, maybe two away from our destination. There will be more than enough time for the word to go out for them to reach Costa Rica from Europe. The wraith knows by now that we are not traveling by air, and will not be watching the airport for them. I can call my grandmother and have her give the word to those remaining at Cerin Amroth to come and fight, as well as send out messengers to those not there. It will not be the thousands of my ancestor’s days, but it may be enough.”

“They’d all come if the Lady Arwen asked them?” Sam asked.

“No.” Estel replied, then hesitantly displayed the ring of Barahir which sat on his index finger. “They would all come at the call of their rightful chieftain and king. It’s not a mantle or responsibility I take lightly. I would not call them as their king without extreme need. They would know this, as would my grandmother.”

Something crossed Jim’s mind just then, and it just wouldn’t let go. “Estel’s not your given name is it? You said you were named by Arwen after your ancestor, but Estel was the name used to hide his true identity from the outside world.”

Estel smirked at the Englishman’s insight. Then he straightened up in his chair just a bit, and his face and expression became more serious, and even more regal as he responded, “No, Jim, you’re right. It’s not, though it is all I have ever used until now. My true given name _is_ Aragorn Elessar, forty ninth of that name. To be honest however, it sounds as strange for me to say it as for you to hear it. But whether I am Estel or Aragorn, whether I sit on a wooden chair or the white throne, whether it is called the European Union or Gondor, whether I am called by them a king or a vagabond, as Elendil’s heir it is still my responsibility to protect and defend them from this darkness. Mine, and my people’s. If I call my kinsmen as who I rightfully am, they will come.”


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

In Ciudad Bolivar, Venezuela two days later…

The forest near El Dorado _had_ been safer and far friendlier territory to the feel of the Venezuelan city in which the now _five_ companions found themselves. Ciudad Bolivar was a city situated on the Orinoco river, second in length and grandeur in South America only to the mighty Amazon river itself. As South American cities went, among those Jim had seen that is, it was certainly the cleanest and most well kept by far. It was also far more heavily patrolled by both police and military, and to be honest, the Englishman had lost track of which was which as he could not discern the two much of the time.

Their truck was stopped, and their travel papers were examined thoroughly. For whatever reason, the soldiers did not appear to notice or question the oddly dressed brown wizard as he sat in between Jim and Sam in the rear cab of the Hilux. At least one soldier seemed disappointed they were all Europeans with the proper documentation and not Americans as though he was really hoping to catch one of the northerners in their country. When he was begrudgingly satisfied, he directed them to a hotel in the city which was appropriately named “Hotel Turistico Liberador,” and was reputed to be well equipped to handle the needs of tourists just passing through, including a well armed security detail to protect their guests’ vehicles.

The rooms themselves of the hotel were surprisingly modern and comfortable considering some of the places in which they had been made to bed down. But the truth was they were not there for the comfort of it. None of them had a mind to stay in the city at all for any length of time except they needed the one luxury they could not get otherwise; the use of an electrical outlet to power Estel’s satellite phone.

All other four were present that evening when the phone’s batteries were sufficiently powered enough to place the call Estel needed to make. He dialed the number and waited for the other end to pick up.

“Grandmother,” the Numenorean began, “it’s time. Tell our people they are needed at Mount Turrialba in Costa Rica in one week’s time. As many as will come.”

“And what reason should I give them to pick up and go, leaving jobs, lives, friends, and family?” She asked, though her tone of voice through the phone’s speaker suggested that she already knew the answer well. She merely wanted him to say it, and to own it.

“The ring-wraith has raised an army which stands in the way of the ring’s destruction, and there is a cold darkness surrounding them which speaks to other evils. Even with the brown wizard’s aid, the odds are not good.” He replied, though he knew in his heart it was not the answer she was seeking.

“Do you really believe that will be enough to convince them, my _hope_?” She asked in response.

Estel then steeled himself. He knew this day would come for him as well. The mantle might not rest on him for a lifetime, but it would be a hard one to bear nonetheless. He would be invoking something sacred, something ancient and binding which only the most dire of causes could give it need. Like his ancestor before him, he would have been happy to spend the rest of his life without having to shoulder it. But like that ancestor, shoulder it he must.

“Tell them their king has called them.” Estel answered her, his voice low but unwavering. “The remnants of the enemy stand in the way of ending this, and they are needed to fight.”

“And what is this king’s name who so calls them?” Came the elf woman’s question as though it were an ancient ritual they were performing. “What name should I give them?”

“Aragorn Elessar, forty ninth of that name, chieftain of the Dunedain and heir of Elendil, Isildur, Elessar, and Eldarion.” Estel replied.

There was silence for a moment, a pause which felt eternal, and then her voice was heard again choked with emotion as she said, “I will send word… _my lord_.”

* * *

In Brussels…

The man known as Hercule St. Clair, a low level diplomat who had a long standing and established career with the European Commission, opened the door to his upper middle class home to find a not unfamiliar face waiting for him. To be fair, he had not seen his cousin in many years, decades even. He had not been expecting to see him for many more. He might have been forgiven for thinking that it was a total stranger if he had, in fact, been thinking that.

But Gondeg had not changed in appearance any more than he had since they had last seen each other. He was still the same man in his prime in spite of his nine decades of life. He stood not far from the doorway, just inside the shadows of the flat, but there was no mistaking this Dunadan man for a common burglar any more than himself. Briefly, Hercule wondered if his wife and children were asleep or if they had been the ones to let the Numenorean in, but then he remembered they were at her parent’s house in Hanover for the weekend while he had been absorbed with the avalanche of work the aftermath of Brexit was still shoveling his way.

Still, Gondeg’s face was not unwelcome, even if it was unexpected.

“Cousin!” Hercule called out with both greeting and some trepidation.

It had been some time since he had been home to Cerin Amroth. With the exception of some messages regarding the availability of certain stores of equipment or vehicles, as well as his usual business of expediting documents and paperwork which might be otherwise questioned, and the recent terrorist attack on the home of his birth of course, he had no more recent news of what was transpiring there than anyone else had. He had offered, after the attack, to return andrelocate his family there to look after his kinsmen and grandmother, but was instructed by the Lady to remain where he was for now.

“Is everything well at home? Is grandmother alright?”

Gondeg stepped out of the shadows to embrace his kinsmen, but the expression on his face was grave and full of purpose even as he stepped away from him and said, “Grandmother is well. She sends word.”

“Word? What word? What has happened?” Hercule asked.

“The king has called for aid.” Gondeg replied solemnly.

The words had an immediate effect, and his own countenance became just as grave. A kind of electricity went through Hercule when they were spoken. He knew what they meant, and what it could mean for him, his career, and his family.

His wife knew who, and what, he was. His children were not yet old enough for him to reveal their heritage yet. That would still be almost a decade off. But his wife knew, and she knew the responsibility that came with his heritage. She had accepted it when they married with his grandmother’s blessing. He hadn’t expected it to come, but he had always lived with the possibility. He wished just then that she could have been there so he could better explain than the hasty text message or email he knew he would be forced to send to explain his sudden departure. His employer would get no such warning except a “family emergency.”

All of these things running through his mind, he summoned his courage and straightened up, answering as he was taught. “And what is the king’s name?”

“Aragorn Elessar, forty ninth of that name, chieftain of the Dunedain and heir of Elendil, Isildur, Elessar, and Eldarion.” Gondeg intoned in response.

“And I will answer my king’s call.” Hercule completed the ritual, knowing very well what the consequences could be. But this is who he truly was, not Hercule St. Clair the diplomat

In the streets of Athens, the suburbs of Rome, in the Swiss Alps, and within sight of the Eiffel Tower in Paris; all over Europe the same words were repeated within days of the word being given by both messenger and the recipients of that message as those remaining at Cerin Amroth were charged with delivering the call of their king personally to their kinsmen and family abroad. It was a solemn oath within their tight knit community which was taken by each member upon reaching adulthood. They were all prepared to answer even when the day might never come. It was an ancient pact, a call to arms and loyalty to lord and kingdom which transcended modern nationalities, borders, and responsibilities. One either took the oath upon reaching adulthood, or one was granted leave from their kin by the Lady of Cerin Amroth, never to return without accepting it.

At Cerin Amroth, the recipients of a similar message, both male and female, began arriving a few at a time either by automobile, motorcycle, or on foot. Most, if not all, wore long hair, scarves, or head coverings of some kind. They were, by any standards, a handsome and beautiful people, tall, lithe, and fair to look upon. There was a goodness, a light which radiated from each one. There were not many, maybe a couple of dozen if that. Scattered across Europe and choosing to live discreet lives away from the prying eyes of men, they nevertheless received the call from the current Lady of Lothlorien and were bound to respond by ties of blood and loyalty thousands of years strong.

They were greeted by that very same Lady within the white stoned dome, images of both Elves and Kings of Men, and potted Athelas plants of the memorial to the ancient Numenorean kingdoms upon arriving, to whom they both bowed and curtsied respectfully. She stood in front of the memorial to her late husband, conspicuously missing the blade which its white stone hands once held.

“Lady Arwen, daughter of Elrond, granddaughter of Galadriel, Lady of the Remnants of Lothlorien, and Queen Mother of Gondor in Exile.” One of the newcomers, a man with age and wisdom in his ice blue eyes addressed her in their own language with dignity and nobility. “It has been many centuries since we received your summons. What would Cerin Amroth have of us that is so urgent that it could not wait for a more opportune time?”

“ _Mae g’ovannen, Autharan._ ” She returned in the same mother tongue. “We have protected each other and provided for each other well over those centuries, have we not?” Arwen asked. “The alliance between Gondor in Exile and our people has always been fruitful for both, especially since the great exodus and the cataclysm. We have always needed one another.”

“All true points,” the Elven man agreed, “We could not have remained hidden as well as we have without your resources, nor you have thrived without our mutual assistance, but this does not answer my question, my Lady.”

“I’m afraid I must call on that assistance once again, and invoke the ancient alliance of Elves and Men

against the darkness which once and continues to threaten us all. You know that a second ring was forged by Celebrimbor.” She responded.

“So you have told us. We have aided in your search for it, and lent every help we can to locate and destroy it.” The Elf replied, trying to understand where she was going with this.

“That ring has been found.” Arwen then informed the gathering of her Elvish kindred.

Some gasps and murmuring passed through that gathering. The man who acted as their spokesman stood in stony silence, waiting for her to continue.

“Even now, there is an expedition underway in the west to destroy it in the remnants of Aule’s Forge.” She informed them. “My descendant, Aragorn Elessar, Elendil’s heir, leads this expedition. But with the finding of the ring, so too have our ancient enemies come to the surface to try and claim it for themselves. The _nazgul_ have returned.”

At the mention of the ancient evil, the gathering of Elves went completely silent, concern written across their faces. She had their full attention now.

“The wraiths have gathered an army of evil men to stand in their way and capture the ring. If this happens, the recent march of darkness across Middle Earth will look like child’s play compared to what will come. None of us will be safe. None of us will remain hidden. Neither Elf nor Man.” She told them.

None of them had to ask what she meant. They remembered what the race of Man naively called the “Second World War” all too well. The evil which the German leader had unleashed upon their world using Celebrimbor’s ring had been nothing less than devastating and nearly comparable with Sauron’s own. None wished to see it again, much less anything worse.

“What then would you have of us?” The Elven man asked, understanding now the stakes of her summons.

“I would respectfully have your aid, Autharan, my friend. And the aid of every man and woman of Elfkind here. Or rather, the king of Gondor would have it if you would give it.” Arwen replied. “He needs capable fighters in what is now Central America in less than a week.”

“You want us to go into the west? Knowing what will happen to us there once this ring’s power is broken? Knowing the choice we must make?” Autharan asked, his voice nearly incredulous at the request. “You ask this of us?”

“We have tarried here for more ages than we rightfully ought to have. All of us for our own, legitimate reasons. But the time has come. We can postpone Eldamar’s summons no longer, regardless. Once the ring is destroyed, that choice will come whether any of us want it or not and we will bear the consequences of disobedience which have been mercifully withheld by the Valar while this question has remained open.” Arwen replied. “We all have friends and family that have waited patiently. All of you here are able bodied and experienced fighters, proven again and again as we have all needed to be over the eons to survive in these ages of Men. We now have this chance to put an end to Sauron’s legacy, these shadows of the past which have haunted us, and bound us here. We can help end it once and for all.”

“And then what? Once these shadows of the past are overthrown?” Autharan asked.

“Then we go home as we were meant to do.” Arwen returned. She then asked flatly, expecting an answer then and there for she had no time for any further debate. “What say you? Will you fulfill your oaths to the ancient alliance, or not?”

Each of those standing there before her looked to be wrestling with themselves, searching their souls. Each of them, she knew, held property, possessions, relationships, and loved ones in whom they had been vested for generations. She knew what she was asking, and the terrible price which would be paid either way whether they answered yea or nay.

Autharan himself looked to be struggling as this day of reckoning had finally come for him as much as for any of them. He was a wealthy man, and had many descendants who were among the race of Men. He himself did not know all of them. He had fought against the call of the west for millennia, telling himself that he did so to aid the Lady of Lothlorien’s mission however quixotic he occasionally believed it to be. He had grown comfortable with navigating the world of Men and keeping his true nature so well hidden, he often forgot it himself.

Finally, as she looked into the eyes of each one of them, she began to see resolution. Even within the eyes of Autharan, she could see that he had made his decision. She hoped it would be the right one. The Elvish man looked to his peers for assent with his own position, and they gave it in unspoken but explicit agreement. They were unanimous.

With a deep and heavy sigh, Autharan spoke, “We are agreed. We will honor our oaths. As we served your father and grandmother, so we serve you. You are right, we have lived among Men for too long. It is time we answered the call home.”

Aboard the _Marie Antoinette_ , an urgent, private message came through for one of the crewmen which, when it was received, the captain chose, most unusually, to personally deliver. The short but stout dwarven man made his way below decks to the quarters where he knew the crewman, who had just gone on his own personal time, would be.

“ _C’est de tu grand-mere, Henri_.” Captain Francois informed him as he handed him the sealed written message which had been transmitted.

“My grandmother?” The younger crewman replied with some puzzlement in the same French tongue.

As far as the dwarven captain let on to almost anyone, Henri was no more than he appeared, a twenty five year old sailor from France with four of those years serving at sea on the _Marie Antoinette_. He was a good hand at it too. But the dwarvish captain also knew very well the man’s heritage which he shared with one of the freighter’s recent passengers which they deposited in French Guiana. He had been informed of it privately before taking the crewman aboard, being one of the few captains who could be trusted with such information. It was also not difficult to see the resemblance between this man and his older kinsman. Though, the observant captain had noticed that neither man had spoken with one another more than passing politeness during that three week voyage, and had wondered if they actually knew one another or if their relationship was more distant cousins than not.

“ _Oui_. Your _Allemande_ grandmother.” The dwarf responded.

“My…” The man again looked puzzled for a moment, and then the light of recognition filled his eyes and he tore open the seal on the paper and read it.

“ _Mon Dieu_.” He exclaimed after reading it. “I… I have to go. I have to get home. Now. I have no time!”

“May I?” The captain asked, extending his hand for the piece of paper.

“Of course, captain.” Henri responded. “You are one of the few I could trust with it.”

Francois nodded as he took the message, accepting the man’s trust as a serious responsibility. He read the contents of it carefully, understanding what it meant for the young man and his family obligations. He thought on it hard. They were still in the Caribbean, and at least two weeks away from the coast of France. The freighter would never make it in time for the young man. Beyond this, his family’s ancient enclave in Germany was not where the letter was calling him to be in a week’s time. If he pushed his engines and called for a helicopter lift he could have the boy where and when he needed to be, but he knew the shipping company wouldn’t take kindly to such a change of course. It would make him late to his next port. He was a damned good ship’s captain and he knew it, but there were limits. No, the owners wouldn’t like the delay at all, especially if it was for personal reasons.

Of course, Maersk would always need damned good captains too, he decided, and this kind of reason only happened once in an eon of time. If nothing else, he could take his retirement and return home to under the mountains. He hadn’t seen the dwarven realms in a very long time, after all.

Francois made up his mind, and it became set like hard granite.

“Your king has summoned you. I’ll be damned if you don’t show up to the party because of me. I’m not going to let that handsome devil down, _pour certainement,_ even if I have to run her aground all the way inland.” Francois told him with a fierce gleam in his dwarven eyes. “ _Non, Monsieur_ , not this dwarf.”

Not long after, the _Marie Antoinette_ , under the orders of her captain changed course from her planned route and headed straight for Costa Rica. When questioned on the change of course by the first mate, he answered him only with, “ _C’est la urgence familiale._ ” It’s a family emergency.

“ _Au Costa Rica?_ ” the first mate questioned, puzzled.

“ _Oui._ ” the captain replied without further explanation.

* * *

Estel pressed the red “end call” button on the satellite phone and then dropped it on the floor and stomped on it violently several times until it was shattered into pieces. There was a vehemence to his actions, a frustration which was easily visible on his face.

“Are you alright?” Jim asked him after it was done.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Estel answered calmly before picking up the pieces of the shattered phone. “My grandmother’s private number is known only to us. I can’t risk it being left in a working phone’s memory.”

“Sure. No problem, mate.” Sam responded kindly on behalf of them all. “Of course.”


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

In Colombia…

Estel was brooding for most of the next two days of hard travel between Ciudad Bolivar in Venezuela and Cartagena in Colombia. Each member of the party who could drive took turns while the others slept, stopping only when needed for the border crossing, gasoline, and the necessities of eating and using the privy. Although, the bookshop owner wasn’t entirely convinced the Numenorean man had gotten any sleep worth mentioning as his mind always appeared to be on what lay ahead. Jim was concerned for his friend, and he was not the only one.

For that reason, Jim was thankful that their passage through Colombia and across Colombian highways had been, unexpectedly, rather unextraordinary. The border guards and patrols were professional for the most part, there were no unusually interested police or military that wanted to question them, and had there been those with criminal intent at the infrequent stops which they made, one steely look from Estel or Eltariel was all that it took for them to quickly forget their ill conceived plans. Even the scenes and scents of the variously mountainous and forested landscape outside of the cities across which they traveled had actually been quite lovely and invigorating. For all he had assumed about Colombia and had heard about its checkered history, Jim found it to be far more stable and pleasant a country than had been let on.

They were two hours out of Cartagena when they had stopped again out of necessity around noon at a fuel station in between Baranquilla and Puerto Colombia. While not entirely deserted, the station was mostly empty when they had pulled in, affording them some small amount of room to walk about privately without other eyes on themselves or their luggage. They had all gotten out of the truck to stretch their legs and walk around. Radagast in particular was completely unused to such travel and as such, the older gentleman was bearing the worst of it with the leg cramps and slight claustrophobia he was experiencing. Jim thought he heard him muttering something about never having that problem with his rabbits. The Englishman felt it prudent to not inquire about the wizard’s meaning.

During their trip, the brown wizard had been an otherwise interesting traveling companion to say the least. Jim had never before believed that mere trees could have such complicated lives or stories, or animals for that matter, and Radagast had plenty of tales about them both. The Englishman came to understand more about how the wizard saw the world, and it was something of a unique point of view. To him, all living creatures were “people” and deserved to be respected as such whether one was a man, a monkey, a mosquito, or even an oak tree. Though, to be sure, Radagast despised mosquitos even as he chose to respect their right to exist. This was made perfectly plain to all listening.

There was also the breadth of the wizard’s “lifespan” to be taken into consideration. Regardless of how he appeared or smelled at times (Radagast certainly preferred to go _au naturale_ ), he was not human. Like the Elf woman who was also their companion, the wizard had seen thousands of years pass by him, and often appeared to have difficulty separating the years and epochs of time in his mind. He was apparently confused on the point that most of Europe was no longer ruled from Rome, for example, and was glad to know that the Americans had settled their civil war over a century and a half before. In spite of these almost silly lapses in basic knowledge about relatively recent history, and his absolute, almost willful ignorance of any modern technological device such as a computer, smart phone, or even the gasoline powered truck in which they were traveling, there was a wisdom and a compassion about Radagast which was uncanny. He knew every herb and plant they came across, and addressed them all as though old friends. Once when they were stopped, Jim heard him making strange noises to something in tall grass only to find out he was having a friendly conversation with a local group of rodents and congratulating a mother on her recent childbirth. Another time, Jim heard him speaking with a too thin, mangy dog that had wandered close with growls and barks. There had been a sullen, compassionate look on the wizard’s face and the Englishman wondered if the animal was relating its whole, sad life story for which Radagast was attentive and empathetic. As a whole, Jim felt humbled and fortunate to have been able to travel with him and experience all of it. It had opened his eyes to a world to which he hadn’t truly paid attention before then. From Sam’s wondrous, and sometimes awed expressions, he knew his best mate felt the same.

Jim was considering all this when he spied Estel standing apart by himself beyond the pumps of the fuel station for just a moment, looking towards the northwest. The Englishman chose to hazard a conversation with him, and approached him from behind.

“Is everything truly alright, Estel?” Jim asked, knowing they were out of earshot of the others. “You haven’t quite been yourself since the phone call you placed.”

“I’m fine, truly, my friend. My thoughts are just on what’s to come.” The Numenorean replied, not as convincingly as he could have. “There is much riding on this. Very much indeed.”

“Well, if you’d like to talk, you know where to find me. Or any of us, for that matter. We’ve all been concerned about you.” Jim returned, meaning to leave it at that and let him be, returning to the Hilux.

Estel sighed, and turned to face him, saying, “You’re a good man, Jim, and a good friend, but I’m not certain you would be able to understand.”

Jim shrugged, gave a half smile, and then replied, “Try me.”

“It’s not just us who now goes to face this darkness and the army Radagast says has been raised. By invoking my rightful title, by summoning my kinsmen as their king, I ordered them, some of whom I have never met, and do not even know personally, to fight and possibly die in what’s to come. I ordered them to leave homes, jobs, wives, and children to fight for a cause they knew little if anything about until two days ago. I summoned them to travel to where we were expressly forbidden by Elendil to set foot, breaking an ancient prohibition. All of these things are my responsibility, and I will answer for them if things go ill.” He explained, his voice cracking with emotion as he did.

“It’s their choice if they answer the summons, isn’t it?” Jim asked.

“Only if they wish to be cursed as ‘oathbreakers’ and exiled from our family.” Estel replied. “They would lose everything and much more. It is not a fate I wished to be responsible for, especially not with those I have never met.”

“Oathbreakers?” Jim asked, recognizing the term from both his gaming and his Tolkien studies. “You don’t mean…?”

“Yes, I do.” Estel replied gravely, with a heaviness which made him seem older even than his hundred and three years. “To break one’s oath to the king of Gondor, even Gondor in Exile, is no small crime. It incurs a curse, a purgatory trapped between this world and the next that can only be released by the king or his heirs.”

“Like those of the Dimholt who made their homes under the mountain.” Jim offered, beginning to understand the source of Estel’s brooding melancholy, and why he had been hesitant to even invoke his birthright in the call with Arwen. “You’re right. I couldn’t begin to understand what that must feel like.” The Englishman answered honestly. “But they all knew this when they took this oath, didn’t they?”

“They are told of it when they come of age. They are given the choice and most say the words solemnly as a rite of passage among the remnants of the Dunedain. But for many I have observed among my kin, especially among those who have left Cerin Amroth to live among the rest of men, it is treated much as many of the English treat baptizing their newborns. They say the words because of a family or societal obligation, but they are little more than a tradition whose requirements they never expect to fulfill.” Estel remarked. “I imagine this message will be an unwelcome one at the very least.”

Jim winced at the mention of the English and their traditions. All the more so because the observation was keenly accurate. He himself had been baptized Anglican as an infant, but had done little in the way of renouncing Satan or following Jesus Christ since. It was a situation within himself that he had come to wrestle with since meeting his new friends and the reality of the power behind such sacred things.

“Like signing a contract without reading the fine print because you must, only for the fine print to bite you in the end when it comes back around.” Jim observed.

“True enough.” Estel managed a smirk at the analogy. It was the first hint of a smile Jim had seen in days.

“The Lady Arwen of course knew this consequence as well.” Jim then commented. “I heard the conversation. You tried to call for help without invoking this. She pushed you to do it, knowing what it might mean for the rest of your folk. Why?”

Estel was silent for a moment, and then said, “I can only speculate, but it may have been because of my father.”

“What do you mean?” Jim questioned.

“When we were certain Hitler had the ring and was using it, it was my father’s responsibility to confront him and retrieve it. He too had all the resources and powers of our line at his disposal, but he chose not to send the summons of the king. Knowing him as I did, I would imagine it would have been for the same reasons it weighs so heavily on my heart. He asked for volunteers among our folk who were already there in Germany residing at Cerin Amroth. Many chose to go, but not all, and none from outside our enclave were called. We could never mount a full scale assault for the lack of men. Our own clandestine attempts on the Fuhrer were unsuccessful, and my father lost his life during one of them, as did most of those who went because there were not enough of us to ensure our success. This is the reason why the villas and houses at Cerin Amroth are so empty. My grandmother has never said as much, but I believe she attributes our failure then to his refusal to own the crown he was born to wear, and invoke our people’s oath. I believe she thinks that if Gondor in Exile had raised its army one last time, we might have ended this in the 1940s, and millions of people need not have died. Knowing my grandmother, she does not wish the same mistake to be made again.”

“Raised its army? You said there were only a few dozen of you left.” Jim asked, confused.

“At Cerin Amroth, and who are, like myself, active in our service to see the ring destroyed. But as for the rest of our kinsmen who have taken the oath, I truly do not know the number, it is a great secret even to me. They are cousins of cousins, and children of cousins who have moved out into the rest of Europe to live their lives as they would, getting married, raising families as they can, and blending in. The Lady Arwen knows them all, and keeps such records close to her breast. I have nothing to do with them and have never seen them. I would see them continue to live their lives in peace if I could.”

“So, for all anyone knows, there really could be an army of people which has been called?” Jim tried to process the thought. “The Lady Arwen could have sent the message to hundreds, even thousands?”

“Or there could only be a few dozen more than I knew of. But yes, it is theoretically possible.” Estel replied. “Only my grandmother really knows for sure. And if they come, will they know how to fight? Will they have the heart for what we must do? I have been fighting, one way or the other, for nearly all of my adult life. I was taught and trained by my father, my grandmother, and even Eltariel and those skills were tempered and honed in true, bloody battle and conflicts again and again. Can the same be said of those who haven’t given a thought to their oaths until they are suddenly called upon? Had I the choice, I wouldn’t have dared to place them in such a position. I would protect them all from such things as I have seen if I could. I would protect you and Sam from the dangers you must face in the same way, though I know that fate will not allow this either.”

_So spoken like a true king of his people._ Jim mused, but did not verbalize. _It is truly a loss for Europe that he will never lead it as he was born to. With such leaders as we now have… What could we have become with such a line of monarchs so concerned with the welfare of their people before their own? Would it be in the mess it is right now?_

“We all of us have our own parts to play in this story, whether we want to or not.” Jim then answered him. “We don’t always get to choose the roles fate would have us play, we can only act them as well as possible and hope we make a difference I suppose.”

“Wise words.” Estel responded. “Regardless of what happens, or how this story ends, Jim Frudd, it has been my privilege to have known you.”

“No. The privilege has certainly been all of mine.” Jim replied.

They both returned to the truck, and the party returned to their journey on the road towards the historic, and even iconic Colombian city of Cartagena. After their conversation though, Estel’s mood seemed just a bit lighter, and though he was as determined as ever, it seemed as though his expression was not so heavy as it had been.

* * *

“We have a problem.” Eltariel announced upon her return from making inquiries.

The five had checked in to the Cartagena Hilton Hotel overlooking the sea while they made preparations to travel farther north. It was a relatively comfortable, modern resort hotel with a gorgeous view of the Caribbean Sea to the north and west. Though none of them had given any thought to treating it as a holiday, nevertheless, it was a welcome respite from the cramped traveling conditions in the Hilux for all of them except perhaps Radagast, who continued to look uncomfortable and out of place in his new, urbanized surroundings.

Captain Francois’ warning about not being able to traverse the Darien Gap, the stretch of roadless wild forest and swamp in between Colombia and Panama had not been lost on them, and finding a solution to the insurmountable problem was of paramount importance. Upon hearing at a previous stop that there might have been a ferry to carry their vehicle in-between the two countries, it had only seemed logical that they stay close to the marina and docks of the city while those arrangements were made.

Except Eltariel’s news put all such hopes to nought.

“There is no ferry in between Cartagena and Panama. The last one to run was four years ago. The only way to get across the Darien Gap is to fly unless we want to make a three day hike through the jungle with a local guide, something those I spoke with thought akin to suicide for the dangers involved.” She informed them of what she had learned. “No matter what, we will have to leave the truck here, and we will not have a vehicle to keep going once we arrive.”

“We can expect those who answered the summons to be arriving in Costa Rica in four days.” Estel told them. “We need to be there at least by then. We cannot do that without our own ground transportation unless we risk the airport, and the wraith will have eyes there looking for us.”

“Just how wide is this stretch of no man’s land?” Sam asked. “And why’s it so dangerous?”

“It is about a hundred kilometers give or take between the nearest town in Colombian and the end of the highway in Panama.” Eltariel replied. “And there are no border crossings in between, so there is nowhere to get the right travel documents. The nearest Panamanian Consulate is in Baranquilla, two hours back the way we came. As for why it is so dangerous, I have been told many things, and that most people who try are never seen again. First, there are no roads, and if there are trails they are not meant for anything except those on foot. Furthermore, there are still rebels and drug smugglers, wild animals, wetlands that will swallow a man alive, impassable rivers, and more. These do not sound like insurmountable challenges to me, but the locals were quite insistent on the foolishness of it. It sounds much like the tales of the old forests I had heard from long ago.”

“An hundred kilometers. Is that all? Even at a crawl that’s three or four hours at the most in the truck.” Sam asked, though his eyes were concerned for the description of what lay within those hundred kilometers. “Is there no way to cross it in the Hilux with its four wheel drive and all?”

“I remember the trees of the old forests.” Radagast then mused aloud as he sat on a modern style bleach white couch in the hotel room. “They were good oaks and ash for the most part. They only became so very violent and angry for what had happened to them and their companions. I spoke with them many times to try and soothe their hurts, but they were very angry. It would not surprise me at all to find the same anger here.”

“Could you help us get through there?” Sam then asked the wizard. “Could you talk to the trees and animals and such? Make them see we mean no harm, and we’re just trying to pass through?”

The brown wizard pursed his lips in thought. “I suppose. I could speak to them, yes, I could do that. But as for their response, it all depends on them and what they want.” he answered.

“We could run back to Baranquilla tomorrow morning, first thing, get the visas we need, and then head for where we need to be to cross the jungle the next day during the daylight.” Sam said, speaking as quickly as the plan formed in his head. “We could make sure we’ve got the extra fuel and supplies with us just in case. Then we head in, Radagast chats with the trees and animals and explains our situation. Maybe they’d help us out if they knew why we needed to get across so quickly? Then we get to the highway in Panama, and we’ve already got our travel visas so there’s no problem there. Then, it’s on to Costa Rica.”

“That’s…” Jim had no words for the desperate madness Sam’s plan represented.

“I suppose it could work.” Radagast then said, nodding as he turned it over in his head.

“Are you serious?” Jim asked.

“Well, yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” The brown wizard answered him, puzzled that the Englishman would even question it.

“What about the rivers, and the rebels, and drug runners?” Jim asked, memories of the illegal Brazilian miners and the firefight that had ensued on their meeting running through his mind. He then turned his eyes to Estel who appeared to be considering all sides of it in great detail. “What do you think about this?” Jim asked the Dunadan lord.

Estel replied after much thought, “My kin will be arriving in four days. The longer it takes for us to arrive, the more at risk their lives become than they will already be. We need every advantage on speed we can get, and still be able to maintain the element of surprise as much as possible. With Radagast’s aid, it is more possible to achieve this than otherwise. Criminals and thugs do not frighten me, but losing our window of opportunity does. I believe it to be worth the risk.”

“And what about the rivers?” Jim asked.

“I suppose this young lady and I might have a word with them too.” Radagast suggested, glancing at Eltariel. “River spirits can be quite stubborn, but not altogether unreasonable if you are polite to them. Do you remember the five sisters in Gondor?” He addressed the question to Eltariel.

“I’ve never had the pleasure, wise one.” Eltariel replied.

“Pity. They were such good hearted spirits. They did much to help against the Easterlings and Haradrim of Sauron’s army, or so Gilrain once told me. Such a sweet river.” Radagast mused. “I could have listened to her voice all day. Oh wait, I think I did once!”

Jim blinked several times blankly as his mind attempted to comprehend the wizard’s words. He knew, at least in _The Lord of the Rings Online_ , to what Radagast was referring. His own avatar within the game had spoken with them as well and run quests with them. Be that as it may, he had no idea that they were anything more than the game developers trying to come up with quest lines or story ideas in addition to the canon material of Tolkien’s works.

“So it’s settled then? We run the Darien Gap and hope the trees, rivers, and wildlife will be willing to help us?” Sam asked.

“Unless anyone else has a better plan for getting us there on time?” Estel asked, looking at each person, ending with Jim.

Jim reluctantly shook his head. He truly wished there was a better plan, but he had nothing and no more time to put one together.

“Then we eat and rest tonight, and get underway after breakfast tomorrow morning.” Estel pronounced. “The day after, we see what mood the forest is in to receive us.”


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

In the Darien Gap…

They had departed Apartado in Colombia just before dawn loaded down with extra gas cans and four additional spare wheels in the bed as a precaution. They took the established, if not always paved roads as far west as they could before, regretably, having to engage the four wheel drive and setting out across what looked to be agricultural fields owned no doubt by some Colombian farmer who would find damaged and crushed crop leaving a trail all the way into the increasingly dense brush and forest which no sane person would attempt to enter. They passed large sections of burned and scorched ground, though whether it had been part of the forest or part of the fields was difficult to discern. The streams they crossed were light at first and of little consequence to the Hilux as it powered its way across them. They made somewhat good time for a short while.

A very short while.

Not long after they left the edge of the fields, the verdant, living tropical forest appeared to close behind them and what traces there were of relative civilization vanished as though it had never existed. They were now at the mercy of the wilds.

“Oh, this forest _is_ old.” Radagast announced from the rear cab of the vehicle, his face serious. “It feels familiar to me though.”

“Yes. I can feel it too.” Eltariel agreed, her own expression serious. “It’s old, and it’s watching us.”

“It feels…” Radagast began as though not quite being able to put his finger on it. “Wait, Estel. Stop this contraption for a minute. I need to get out.”

“What? Here?” Estel asked.

“Yes, here.” Radagast confirmed. “Unless you want to make them any angrier.”

Estel brought the truck to a halt.

“Make who angrier?” Sam asked as he opened his door and got out to make way for the brown wizard.

“Them of course.” Radagast gestured towards the trees which had suddenly seemed to surround them, hemming them in in a way Sam hadn’t noticed before.

Eltariel exited the truck as well to come stand next to the wizard, her eyes watchful of the trees and what dangers they might be concealing from them. They were standing like sentinels around the truck and its passengers as though studying it, trying to determine what to do with it. The sounds of cracking, creaking, and the groaning of wood flowed around them while all other sounds one might expect, such as birds or creatures in the underbrush had gone silent.

“What’s going on?” Jim asked, calling out from inside the truck.

“They’re speaking to one another.” Eltariel called back, “But I do not understand the language of trees. I don’t know what they’re saying.”

“They’re debating what to do with us.” Radagast then offered. “They recognize me. They know at least what you are, my dear, and know that your people have always been their friends even if it has been a very long time since they’ve seen an Elf.” He addressed Eltariel. “But they have no love for you three, I’m afraid.” He said this looking to each man present. “Many of the younger ones would like to turn you into mulch and be done with it, I’m afraid.”

“You can talk to them though, right?” Sam asked nervously. “Ask them not to?”

“I can ask.” Radagast answered. “But whether they will agree is another matter entirely.”

Then the brown wizard turned to address the trees which were surrounding them, and the strangest, tree-like sounds began coming from his elderly form as he swayed his arms in strange patterns like branches. Jim, who heard the strange groanings coming from the wizard from inside the truck, hadn’t ever imagined those sounds _could_ be made by anyone with two legs and vocal chords.

Then, after several minutes of this, he went silent and waited. It seemed forever before the trees began swaying and moving in response, their trunks cracking, groaning, and rustling. Then it became Radagast’s turn once more, and on and on. Jim didn’t know what was being said, but the conversation felt as though it was taking forever. He hoped it would not take as long as the Entish did as portrayed in the Peter Jackson films. They did not have the kind of time for an Entish “good morning.”

“What are they saying?” Eltariel finally asked, feeling the mood among the trees shift from anger and hostility to curiosity and consideration.

“I explained to them why we’re here, and that we’re only trying to get through as quickly as possible. That mollified them slightly. Neither they nor we wish for us to be here any longer than is necessary.” The wizard answered. “Men try to come through here all the time according to them, befouling Yavanna’s garden with their contraptions and filth like the nastiest of orcs. They’re quite sick to death of it.”

“Will they let us pass with their blessing?” Estel asked, calling out from where he still sat in the driver’s seat.

“They’re discussing it.” Radagast called back to him. “Patience will be necessary. Trees decide nothing quickly, but it may work in our favor that we have asked their permission politely.”

“Indeed.” Jim commented upon hearing it, though it felt much less like a joke to him now, surrounded by such trees making those decisions than it did from the hotel room in Cartagena.

Jim’s watch told him that a half an hour had passed since the trees began discussing it amongst themselves. During that time, the occupants of the truck had been left to wait for their answer. Sam had returned to sitting in the rear cab of the vehicle while the Elf woman and Radagast remained standing where they were, just as ancient and patient as those deciding their fate.

Then Radagast’s attention was drawn to a particular set of groanings and crackings, and he appeared to be listening as though being addressed. He responded in kind once they were done, and gave a slight, but respectful bow to the woody giants that had surrounded them.

“What did they say, wise one?” Eltariel asked, feeling the mood shift again as a gap in the trees to the west opened up, large enough for the truck to pass through comfortably.

“They will allow us to pass with their blessing, and they will send word to the rest of their brethren to not oppose our travel as long as we reach the human road on the other side by sundown and harm nothing. But if we linger any longer, well… They promise nothing after that. And they cannot speak for the rivers, or the other residents of the forest. We must ask their cooperation as well separately.” Radagast answered loud enough for them all to hear.

Eltariel then pressed her hands together, faced the trees and gave her own respectful bow saying in her own native tongue, “ _Annon allen_!” Thank you.

As Jim watched her do so, he could not be sure, but it almost appeared as if two or more of the trees returned the gesture with their trunks and branches. His eyes went wide as he saw it, and took off his glasses to rub them a few times wondering if he had truly seen what he thought at all.

The Elf and the wizard then returned to the cab of the truck, Sam getting out to make room for the wizard’s entrance, and they proceeded slowly across the forest floor through the newly parted path which the trees themselves had made for them. Nevertheless, Jim could not shake the feeling that they were still being scrutinized by the flora as the truck’s tires rolled across the forest floor.

In spite of the path which the trees and plants graciously allowed them, the Hilux could still do no more than fifteen or twenty kilometers per hour, and this only on the better stretches of ground. Many patches were soggy, though not to the point where they could not traverse them. The truck continued moving forward, the moods of those within tense and watchful. Every so often, Sam would spy the eyes of a jungle cat watching them curiously from a distance, or the large slithering form of a constrictor snake blending in with the foliage where it hunted. Once, he would have sworn there was the rusted form of an old automobile just beyond the path, surrounded by vines and overgrown as though the forest was giving them incentive to keep moving. Estel was careful to keep the Hilux on the path the trees had laid out, and once they had passed, it just as quickly disappeared behind them as though no one had passed through at all.

An hour after they had begun their path, they came to the first river. It appeared to be a little over thirty meters across, and not particularly deep. Like most of the streams and flowing water they had encountered in South America, its waters were the color of hot cocoa, and they were moving fast.

“I believe we should stop on the bank before attempting to cross.” Radagast told Estel.

“It doesn’t look that deep.” The Numenorean returned.

“Perhaps, but it would be quite rude to presume, wouldn’t it?” The wizard returned.

“The wise one is right, _edhellen_.” Eltariel told him from the passenger seat. “We tread in some else’s home, not they in ours. The spirit of the river is no different from the trees who gave us permission.”

Estel nodded in concession and stopped the truck. “Of course, you are right, _edhelvain_.”

Once more, Sam moved and got out of the vehicle, making way for the brown wizard to approach the bank of the fast moving water respectfully. His gnarled wooden staff suddenly appeared in his hand, though neither Jim nor Sam could tell from where as he was not holding it within the truck’s cab. The wizard walked up to the edge of the bank, and tapped the end of his staff on the ground, intoning something in Sindarin which those in truck did not quite hear.

The next thing which occurred nearly gave those among the party of the race of men heart attacks for the sight. The waters of the river, quite unnaturally, rose up like a column and shaped themselves into the form of an attractive young woman with cocoa colored skin and hair. Her eyes and expression were fierce and fiery. She had the air of a woman with authority and power who did not like being disturbed.

“ _Se_ _ñ_ _ora Carepa._ ” Radagast addressed her with respect in Spanish.

“ _Se_ _ñ_ _or Marron_.” She returned in the same language as though addressing at least an equal. Her voice was pleasant but commanding in tone. “ _Por que_ _estan aqui? Que quieren ustedes?_ ”

“She wishes to know why we are here and what we want.” Estel translated.

Radagast replied in the same language, his tone of voice always cordial and respectful of her. Her own facial expression betrayed nothing of her thoughts as she listened to his explanation and petition. Then she spoke, her features softening just a little at the humility of the ancient wizard asking for her permission for himself and his companions to cross her waters.

“What’s she saying?” Jim asked.

“That she appreciates the gesture.” Estel told him, his own expression a little more humble and thoughtful at the conversation he heard. “Many just foul her shallow waters even further without giving it a second thought. She will gentle her flows enough to allow us passage across, but she cannot promise her sisters along our path will be so accommodating. They have seen much harm and much blood has been shed by our kind in their waters over the years in addition to the poisons which pollute them from man’s presence.”

“So what will we do then?” The Englishman inquired. “We will need to cross them, won’t we?”

“We will.” Estel confirmed. “I suppose we will find out what mood they are in when we reach them.”

Once more, Radagast bowed respectfully to the Lady of the river as her form collapsed back into the waters from which it came, and then he and Sam returned to the cab of the truck. As promised, the flow of the river slowed and then very nearly stopped, lowering the water level enough to where Estel was able to drive the Hilux with more ease than was rightfully possible across the rock and mud strewn river bottom and up the opposing bank where the trees once more began to part for them.

“A little kindness and respect goes a long ways towards opening up new paths with others I have found.” Radagast commented to the two Englishmen as they reached the other side.

“It certainly does.” Jim agreed, thinking of something which his aunt used to say which was very similar. He wondered briefly what she would think of the extreme proof of concept which they had just demonstrated.

The way through the trees continued on through the mid-morning. There were times they were going slow enough to where Jim swore he’d be able to run faster than the truck, but there were others when they were moving at a considerable rate. They came to another, similar river to the Lady Carepa’s waters, and once more, Radagast respectfully asked permission. This Lady did not seem nearly as fierce as Carepa, and instead, like her waters, had a slower, gentler disposition. She was not apparently fond of humans either, but like her sister, she appreciated their request for permission and granted it. It was well she did too. As the waters slowed even further and drew down to allow them to cross, it could be seen that the Hilux would have easily and quickly been swamped and deluged by the deceptively hidden depth of them. From there they moved on once more into thicker and more dense jungle than they had even been in before.

Estel’s dashboard mounted compass had them pointing west and in the general direction they needed to be heading. At the very least, the makeshift road the trees were creating was not leading them astray as they continued to move forward. Nevertheless, all within the vehicle kept their eyes open and alert.

The path the trees laid brought them to the bank of a much larger and faster moving river. To Jim’s eyes it might have just as well been the Thames in London for its breadth. He of course didn’t know how deep it was, but just from its size, he could guess that there was no way for the truck to traverse it regardless.

“How are we supposed to get across that?” Jim asked.

“You really need to ask that, mate?” Sam asked with an incredulous look on his face as he glanced towards the wizard who sat in between them.

But Radagast’s own expression looked dubious at that point. “Yes, well, hmm.” He responded. “We will see what kind of a mood she is in.”

His tone of voice was not hopeful.

Once more, Sam got out to let the wizard go and speak to the spirit of the river. Once more Radagast tapped his staff, intoning a few words in Sindarin. And once more, the cocoa colored waters of the river coalesced before them into a fiery, fierce woman with the same color of skin and hair. But her expression was far less than welcoming.

“ _Se_ _ñ_ _ora Atrato…_ ” Radagast began, but that was all he was able to get out before she began speaking both angrily and rapidly to where the wizard couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Her voice raised higher and higher as she talked at him, gesturing with her watery arms wildly up and down the banks and stamping a liquid foot repeatedly on the bank.

“What’s she saying?” Jim asked Estel, whose face betrayed both amusement and dismay at the sight.

“The Lady isn’t pleased to see any of us.” Estel replied succintly.

“Well, yes, I gathered that.” Jim replied. “But why?”

“There are some choice words I’d rather not repeat, but suffice it to say that she’s upset about being polluted by our kind, mistreated, and ignored, she and her tributaries. She hates the bloodshed which our kind have fouled her waters with and is sick of it. She feels that she has no reason to help us whatsoever, and if we set so much as one foot into her waters, she will drown us.” Estel told him the gist of her angry message.

“Even Radagast?” Jim asked, not knowing who could really be angry with the eccentric but gentle old wizard.

“Did it look like she was exempting him to you?” Estel questioned.

“No.” Jim conceded.

When the river spirit was done shouting, her physical form dispersed and rejoined the waters of her mighty flow. Radagast’s cheeks were burning at the scolding she gave. Nevertheless, as she returned, he responded dejectedly, as if to her back, “ _Si, Se_ _ñ_ _ora_.” He stood there for a moment as if to recover himself, and then rejoined the others at the truck.

“She is a powerful and passionate river.” Radagast told them upon returning. “I do not blame her for being upset.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t either.” Jim conceded. “But that still doesn’t change our need to get across. Is it possible to go around?”

“No.” Radagast answered. “She stretches for over six hundred of your kilometers north to south.”

“What do we do then?” Sam asked.

“I need time to think.” The wizard replied as he produced a pipe and began to smoke it.

“She didn’t seem pleased at all to see even you. Why?” Jim asked.

“Because I wasn’t here to stop them from hurting her.” Radagast replied, a tone of shame creeping into his words.

“That’s not fair, is it? You can’t be everywhere, mate.” Sam told him.

“How true that is.” The brown wizard replied sadly. “But still, I have spent far too long holed up in my comfortable little house. The trees have told me over the years, but I didn’t know to believe half of it. She was right. I have neglected caring for the remnants of Yavanna’s garden here and elsewhere. Leave me for a moment. I need to walk a little.”

Radagast wandered off towards the tree line alone, the sweet smelling smoke from his pipe filling the air in his wake.

“What now?” Jim continued to ask aloud to those still within earshot.

“For now, we wait until he thinks of something.” Eltariel responded.

“What about building a raft and floating the truck across?” Jim then asked, thinking aloud.

Estel shook his head. “She’d capsize it the moment it was in the water.”

“Well, can we turn back, or find a shallower part downriver?” Sam then joined his friend’s speculation.

“We could be traveling many kilometers, and still have the same problem. No, it is safer and more useful to let Radagast think of something else to try.” The Numenorean replied.

The noontime came and went before the brown wizard returned.

“Do you have something?” Sam asked.

“Perhaps. There is an old friend who resides not far from here. I have sent a message asking for any help she can give us.” The wizard replied. “I am certain she will respond. We used to be quite close, though I admit, we haven’t spoken for a while. Not since that Simon Bolivar fellow was around.”

“She?” Jim asked, wondering to whom the wizard was referring.

“Yes. She.” Radagast answered cryptically.

Fifteen minutes later, a terrifying screech like no eagle or hawk had ever made before pierced the air around them and filled them all with a kind of dread. Jim’s eyes immediately shot to the skies as he asked in a low voice punctuated by his instinctive fear, “What was that?”

“Oh good. She got my message.” Radagast exclaimed, appearing quite pleased. “I think everyone should probably get in the vehicle now.” He then followed his own advice and climbed into the center rear seat calmly.

Another screech filled the air and the sound of great wings flapping beat hard, creating breezes and winds around them as a dark shadow flew over their heads. Estel and Eltariel obeyed the wizard with expressions of concern on their faces. Both Jim and Sam instinctively covered their heads before running and jumping back into the truck. But for just a second, Jim glanced upwards to see what was about to arrive. And his heart nearly stopped as he saw the owner of the terrifying cry.

“It’s a bloody dragon.” He managed to whisper before diving into his seat and slamming the door tight.

“THAT IS A BLOODY DRAGON!!!” He shouted from fear and astonishment, pointing towards the sky. “HOW IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY IS THERE A BLOODY DRAGON OUT THERE?!”

“There’s no need to be rude about it. That’s just one of the forms she can take. I imagine it’s the one she thought most useful for what we needed.” Radagast replied, completely unconcerned about the impending attack of the massive and powerful creature.

“Just who is it that you sent a message to?” Jim demanded.

“Carnan.” Eltariel answered for the wizard with an awe and wonder in her voice. “She still lives, after all this time.”

“Just as you and I do, of course she still lives.” The wizard told her.

“Carnan. Just who is Carnan?” Jim asked, not recognizing the name.

“She’s a spirit of nature, isn’t she?” Sam answered. “You’ve never gotten into the Shadow of Mordor stories, Jim, but she’s in there right along with Celebrimbor’s ring. She helped Talion take down a Balrog once.”

“Indeed she did.” Eltariel confirmed for them, a reverence in her voice.

“She did, did she?” Jim answered, mollified. “Well…”

Just then the beating of the air grew louder and louder, and then something huge carefully grabbed the truck from under the vehicle with huge taloned claws and the next thing they all knew, the truck rose slowly into the air, gaining speed with every beat of the massive, powerful wings.

“She’s giving us an airlift?” Sam asked with both amazement and disbelief.

“It would appear so.” Estel replied with no less awe than his friends.

As Jim looked out the windows of the vehicle, he saw massive forelegs clutching the front end of the Hilux. But they weren’t made of scales or reptilian flesh as he would have imagined a dragon’s might. Instead, they appeared to be made of living wood, vines, and tree bark as though the whole creature was crafted from the living wilds itself.

They flew over the river in a matter of moments, but the dragon carrying them aloft didn’t lower them or slow down. Instead, it soared onward to the west, passing over a canopy of trees that revealed nothing of what their boughs and leaves hid.

“Wait, where is she taking us?” Jim asked. “We’re well past the river.”

“I did happen to mention in my message that our errand was urgent.” Radagast replied.

They continued to soar like that for another ten minutes or so until the creature began to slow down and lowered them into a clearing in the forest far to the west from where they began. The Hilux bounced as the dragon released the truck onto the rainforest floor and then the ground trembled slightly as she landed nearby.

“Please, let me out for a moment so I can speak with her. It has been some time, and I don’t know when I will get the chance again.” Radagast asked Sam who complied and opened the door to step out, a kind of wondrous shock still etched in his expression.

Jim too opened his door and got out of the truck. He wanted to confirm that he had actually seen what his senses told him was true in spite of what reality was supposed to be. He looked in the general direction which the brown wizard had gone to find the dragon’s shape already beginning to morph into something else, the woody branches, vines, and bark changing shape and rearranging. When it was done, instead of a terrifying beast, there was a giant woman’s form waiting to greet the wizard. Her expression was just as proud and fierce as those of the river spirits which he had seen, but also tender and gentle when she looked upon the form of the eccentric wizard. She reached out a wooded hand to touch his cheek gently.

The wizard blushed slightly as they exchanged words in the Elven tongue. Carnan’s expression grew serious and solemn as Radagast appeared to be explaining what was happening in detail, and she nodded in response several times, replying in Sindarin. Her voice was strong, the voice of a person who was clearly master or mistress of her domain, yet still feminine and maternal in quality. She appeared almost to be the picture one might imagine upon the title of “Mother Nature.”

It seemed fitting just then to the Englishman that both the brown wizard and this maternal spirit of nature should not only know each other, but apparently have a relationship which clearly went beyond mere friendship. Seeing it, and realizing that he was staring and intruding on what must have been the only moment they had shared for some time, he felt like an intruder or a voyeur and decided to excuse himself silently and return to the confines of the truck.

Some short time later, Radagast returned to them.

“She has set us only a few kilometers from the nearest town where the highway begins. The trees will continue to part for us until we reach it.” he told them. “She has also promised aid should we need it when we reach our destination. She too wants to see Celebrimbor’s mistake rectified.”

Jim felt, in that moment, completely ashamed for his reactions that entire trip. He wanted to say something but all he could come up with was, awkwardly, “She is quite special, isn’t she?”

“She is indeed, my friend.” Radagast agreed. “She is indeed.”

Ten minutes later they reached the highway where they were stopped by surprised Panamanian authorities and their travel documents were checked. They had no way of explaining either the claw marks on the sides of the truck, or how they had managed to get visas from the Panamanian consulate the day before, or how they had been able to get the truck across the forest in less than a day. But, no contraband was found that the officers could find, and an hour and a thousand U.S. dollars later to smooth things over, they were on their way again up the highway towards their goal.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

In Turrialba, Costa Rica…

They arrived in the sizable Costa Rican town the third day after their exit from the Darien Gap. It was just before one o’clock, though the sky was overcast with thick dark clouds, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. It might have been sooner had they not been held up for hours at a time crossing the Panama Canal and crossing the Panamanian-Costa Rican border, but that couldn’t be helped. They were exhausted from driving, all except Radagast who himself had no idea how to operate the truck and had no desire to learn, and while they had not starved on the journey, their meals had been fewer and farther between than had been comfortable for any of them.

Like most of the landscape they had seen on their journey, Costa Rica was a verdant garden of tropical forest and picturesque towns. One could even say it was the epitome of Central American natural beauty. Even the volcano which was their ultimate goal was covered in living emerald foliage from the base up to the rim of the caldera as it came into view from the road. But they had seen so much of it over the past few weeks that it had lost its appeal and paradisaical uniqueness.

The town of Turrialba was, to Jim’s mind, the most colorful town he had ever seen, quite literally. Covered in a jumbled mix of bright reds, greens, yellows, and blues between both buildings and cars it was both festive and somewhat overwhelming to the Englishman, moreso than the previous South American towns and cities he had so recently visited. None of those buildings and structures appeared to be more than two stories at most, and like most they had seen in that part of the world, all appeared to be affected by the constant humidity and were in various states of run down maintenance, though to be fair it was better kept than many they had encountered to be sure. Also, all the streets which could be seen were paved, and in a good state of repair. There was a definite “tourist” quality to its appearance, as though the town had been built knowing that people would be coming from all over to visit and recreate there. According to what information they were able to find on the internet when they had some spotty service in the towns and cities they stopped in for fuel and food, Turrialba the town boasted a thriving population of thirty five thousand people not including the tourists who came to see the volcano, ziplining park, and the Guayabo ruins nearby.

Although, as they entered the small city, Jim was wondering where everyone was as they passed a University with no one either coming or going. While there were cars parked on the curbs, and awnings stretched out along the storefronts meant for the selling and buying common to Latin American street markets, the town seemed very empty, abandoned even. Also, the further in they went, the more a pall seemed to be cast over it which he couldn’t quite explain. There was a cold, chill feeling as the Hilux drove through the seemingly empty streets.

“Where are all the people?” Sam asked, observing the same thing.

“I don’t know. There’s a deathly feel about this place.” Estel replied as he drove slowly.

From his window, Jim looked out at the stores and buildings. Once he thought he saw a brown skinned face peering out from behind a curtain in a window only to have it disappear quickly. That face looked terrified.

“ _They_ are nearby.” Eltariel announced in a low, grave voice and her entire expression and disposition changed to something which could only be described as “high alert.”

“ _They_ who?” Jim asked, though he felt he already knew the answer she would give.

“The _nazgul_.” She replied, ominously. “All of them.”

“How is that possible?” Estel questioned. “Even _they_ would require some kind of physical transport here, just as our friend in black.”

“I don’t know, but I know this shadow all too well, _edhellen_. I fought it more times than I can count. It is the shadow of the ring wraiths.” The Elf woman responded.

“Oh no. It’s not just them, I’m afraid, dear.” Radagast added, his own expression very serious. “Even _they_ could not project this kind of darkness and fear on their own. There are more unnatural things ahead up the mountain, things which should have remained buried.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, himself already fearing the answer. What more than the nazgul would they have to face?

“I would hesitate to say until we know more for certain. I would not want to frighten you any more than is necessary.”

Sam’s face however said that it was far too late for that.

They continued to drive through the unnaturally empty yet colorful _avenidas_ and _calles_. It had the feel of a creepy theme park which had been abandoned as the truck rolled on unchallenged and unmet by anyone. Out his window, Sam too caught glimpses every once in a while of eyes watching them through curtains and blinds. Eyes that were full of fear.

“Where are we going exactly?” Sam then asked, hearing the constant directions being given in Spanish by the feminine voice of a smart phone mounted to the dashboard.

“The message I received said to meet our contact at the park across the street from the San Buenaventura Catholic parish on Avenida Cuatro.” Estel answered, referring to the text message he had received in answer after sending a message from the pre-paid smart phone he had recently purchased and activated upon their passage through Panama City.

“How will we know who the contact is?” Sam then questioned.

“Likely because he will be the only one there.” Estel retorted, gesturing to the empty streets.

“Right.” Sam answered sheepishly.

They continued on like this for several more minutes until they came within view of a garden square within the city marked out by tall, thick green forest trees and a white domed pavilion which had been erected in the center. Across the _avenida_ from the small park was a white stone and brick Roman Catholic church with a tall, white stone and brick bell tower and the white marble figures of four Catholic Saints affixed to rectangular columns marking the entrance. As Jim looked upon the church, he thought there was something distinctively “Gondorian” about its architecture, though of course the thought seemed silly even as he held it.

Estel parked the truck on the curb next to the church and its five occupants got out, stretching their cramped legs for the first time in hours since their last stop for what breakfast they could find. Jim noticed that, as his Numenorean friend got out, he quickly and discreetly checked the pistol in its holster hidden under his seat and then put it on, anchoring the holster above the Kevlar vest he wore under his own button down to just under his left arm. Then, not so discreetly, he retrieved Anduril from where the sword had lain hidden in the truck bed and fixed the strap of its scabbard to his back. Eltariel likewise felt for her twin blades and donned them in their scabbards, barely bothering to check for unfriendly eyes. With the fel chill nearly omnipresent around them, he couldn’t say it was a rash thing to do so openly. Seeing his friends do so, the Englishman retrieved the long dagger he had been given and had carried since leaving Cerin Amroth, the priceless Elven made artifact once held by the original ringbearers, _Sting._ He fixed it to his own belt, and though he knew it was already there, he still felt for the ancient mithril shirt beneath his light button down and undershirt. Radagast’s gnarled wooden staff appeared in his hands, and, taking his cue from the others, Sam retrieved the Kevlar vest which had been given him, and an additional pistol from the truck which Estel had taught him how to use went between his own belt and pants.

There was a sense of finality about the party now. No more pretending to be tourists. No more hiding. It was time to do what they had journeyed for over a month to accomplish. It was time to bring all things to an end.

When all had sufficently armed themselves, they crossed the street and entered the green, well manicured park square. Like the rest of the town, the square itself appeared to be empty, except as they drew closer to the domed pavilion, they saw one man dressed in what looked to be modern soldier’s fatigues with body armor in a camouflage pattern suited for forest. In his hands was a very modern looking assault rifle, but strapped to his back was a compound bow and quiver full of arrows. A short sword in a black scabbard was strapped to his right thigh. He did not appear to be Latin American however, but of a darker haired European descent.

The party stopped briefly upon seeing the man, and then he turned exposing the insignia of a flag on his upper right arm. That flag was of a dark purple hue and even from that distance clearly depicted a white tree with seven stars around it.

It was the insignia of Gondor, and as he turned, they could all clearly make out the man’s features.

“Gondeg!” Estel called out, approaching his cousin.

Hearing Estel’s voice, Gondeg turned to face them with a huge grin on his otherwise serious and concerned face. He gave them a salute with a fist to his chest, and then upon seeing his cousin draw near and stand in front of him, his face became somber and reverent, and his dropped to one knee in front of him.

“Your majesty.” Gondeg addressed him, but there was no humor or irony in his voice as he spoke. “We have assembled as instructed.”

“Get up, cousin. I’m no different now than I was two months ago.” Estel chastised him, but there was no sting in his own tone of voice.

As the armed soldier rose, Estel embraced him warmly saying, “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, cousin.” Gondeg returned the embrace. “Though I wish it were in more pleasant surroundings. It’s been like this since we arrived three days ago. The people in the town were already too fearful to leave their homes when we got here. Padre Jorge at the church across the street will explain more. He has been of a tremendous help to us.”

“How many have come?” Estel asked soberly.

“It’s best if you see for yourself.” Gondeg replied gravely.

“I see.” Estel answered. “What do we know of what we’re facing?”

“Let’s all head inside the church, I’ll explain on the way.” Estel’s cousin said.

The five plus Gondeg then all turned back towards San Buenaventura and its white stone walls. Gondeg talked as they walked.

“Our scouts have counted close to five hundred armed men up the road closer to the caldera of the volcano. They’ve established a camp. According to Padre Jorge they began arriving through town three weeks ago. Most of them appear to be mercenaries, thugs, and whatever lowlifes would answer the enemy’s call. They’ve got some decent hardware, an old Apache helicopter, some trucks like yours with rear mounted machine guns. Nothing we haven’t dealt with before. There’s a second camp of them farther west along the highway leading to the Irazu volcano’s caldera as well.” Gondeg told him.

“The wraith couldn’t know which caldera we intended to use.” Estel observed. “It wanted to be certain.”

“That was our thinking too.” Gondeg agreed. “But the men aren’t the real threat, as I’m certain you have noticed from the chill in the air. There’s more than one of the wraiths. Our people have counted a total of eight. Four at the camp up near Turrialba’s caldera, and four at Irazu’s. And there’s more to be concerned about.”

“So we have been warned.” Estel answered, glancing back at his wizard friend.

Gondeg stopped where he was and looked his kinsman dead in the eyes as he said, “The dead have been walking the streets of the town at night, cousin.”

“The dead?” Estel asked, the chill in the air creeping down his spine.

“Padre Jorge said they appeared a week ago, though no one is certain from where. Hundreds of them. They come after the last light of the sun and leave before dawn. They walk the streets of the town scaring the residents so badly that they will not leave their homes. Even the local authorities are too frightened to step foot outside. A few of the townspeople from his parish have gone missing according to the priest, and so have many of the tourists who have ventured out at night.” The Numenorean man’s voice was somber and serious. “Shooting them and hacking them apart doesn’t stop them. We’ve taken to patrolling the streets at night with torches and flame throwers we brought with us and acquired since we arrived. We found the first night that burning them is the only way to destroy them, but more returned the second night. They aren’t fond of bright light either, but it does little more than make them flee.”

Estel took this information into consideration as they continued across the street and up the steps to the entry doors of the church beyond the white marble statues of the Saints. With some trepidation as to how many, or how few, he would find inside he opened the doors and walked through followed by his cousin, and then the rest of his traveling companions.

And the sight which met his eyes nearly brought tears to them.

The church’s halls and facilities were filled with people, most of whom resembled himself in some way. There were hundreds of men and women who had answered his call, all of them wearing the same fatigues, body armor, and insignia which Gondeg sported. They were cleaning weapons, preparing meals, resting, making plans, and so on. And not just men, there were Elvenkind! Dozens that he saw, though he couldn’t be sure of the exact count. And every person who saw him enter with his party dropped to one knee as he passed.

“Did every one of our kinsmen respond?” Estel questioned his cousin in disbelief.

“Very nearly. There were those who were too young to take the oath. A very few attempted to respond but were too infirm for combat for their rather advanced age. They are now caring for the estate in our absence, with your leave of course.” Gondeg replied.

“Of course. Granted. Absolutely.” Estel replied, stunned at the response.

“I know of no one who refused the summons outright, cousin.” Gondeg then told him. “Some went to great lengths and personal cost to be here.” The Numenorean then gestured towards two figures standing near a table which had been set up with meal rations.

One was a younger looking man in fatigues, who like the others saluted with his fist and bowed low. Estel was certain he hadn’t met him before, but he looked familiar like a sailor he had seen recently aboard the _Marie Antoinette_. And standing next to him was a very familiar, French speaking dwarven ship’s captain sporting a massive, dwarven forged battle ax.

“ _Bonjour, mon ami_!” Francois greeted his old friend. “Or shall we say, _votre Majeste._ ” And then he too took one knee in front of him.

“But what about your ship? Your commission?” Estel protested, though he was also overjoyed to see him.

“There are some things more important in life, _votre Majeste_. I couldn’t let you or this boy charge into battle by yourselves, now could I? _Non monsieur._ Not this dwarf.” Francois replied. “Not when I still owe you my own skin. I left the ship in the hands of the first mate and brought the boy and myself over by helicopter. They have instructions to report me missing if I’m not back in a few days from now. _Je suppose_ it will be all over by then, one way or the other.”

Estel was nearly speechless at the devotion and friendship of his old friend, and had difficulty not tearing up as he looked on him with gratitude, and clasped both his arm and the arm of his previously unmet kinsman. Moving on there were others he recognized and many he didn’t. All those he knew from Cerin Amroth were present, even aged Father Adalbert whom he saw conferring with a shorter, Latin American man in black clerics and white collar was there in military fatigues though sporting a gold cross at the lapel.

He stopped before his cousin and the Costa Rican priest whom he addressed in Spanish with a slight bow of his head in respect, “ _Padre Jorge_ , thank you so much for allowing us the use of your church. I know it must be disturbing to have so many armed men and women within its walls, I promise…”

“ _Se_ _ñ_ _or Aragorn_ ,” The priest interrupted in the same language gesturing with his palms up and using Estel’s true given name, “you and your very large and unusual family are very welcome here.” The priest replied in sincerity. “They have been like the very angels of God protecting the people of our town from these devils since they arrived and running food and aid to as many as they can. I don’t know why all this is happening to us, but any assistance I can give is yours.”

Estel winced slightly upon hearing his given name spoken out loud so freely, especially with the Spanish appellation which literally meant “lord.” He hid his discomfort however as well as he could. “It is much appreciated, _Padre_. I hope we can bring a swift end to these troubles afflicting your town soon.”

“As do I, your majesty.” Came a feminine voice the entire party recognized, though she spoke in clear, accented English.

Estel turned upon hearing her voice to find his grandmother, the Lady Arwen in combat fatigues and body armor no different than any other present. A compound bow was strapped to her back along with a quiver of arrows, and a long sword of Elven manufacture accompanied it. She had taken one knee in front of him as Gondeg and the others had done.

“Grandmother, you have no need to bow to me or to anyone.” Estel told her, his face flushed.

“I bow to the rightful King of Gondor, my hope.” Arwen replied.

“But why have you come? Who is protects Cerin Amroth if not you?” Estel asked her, even as he bid her to rise.

“If we do not see this through, my hope, there will be no more Cerin Amroth.” She answered. “I swore to serve Gondor upon my own coronation as her queen eight thousand years before you were born. In that respect, I am bound by my oath, and no different than anyone else here. I am also the one who taught you the art of warfare, or have you forgotten? Besides, I still wield Nenya, and we need all the advantage we can get against this darkness.”

Her violet eyes would brook no argument from him, and he conceded.

“Grandmother has been instrumental in driving back the dead from the town during the night, your majesty.” Father Adalbert informed him.

Just then, Arwen went to welcome the other four who had come with Estel, Eltariel, Jim, Sam, and Radagast for whom she held a great smile as she said, “Wise one, it has been a very long time.”

“Indeed it has, young lady.” Radagast returned with his own grandfatherly smile for her. “The last I saw, you didn’t even reach my waist, and look how you’ve grown! The little girl who liked to hear about my tales of the wild has become a lovely young woman.”

Arwen grinned girlishly in reply. “It has been nearly eleven thousand years, wise one.”

“So it has.” The brown wizard answered. “I suppose even little Elf girls grow up, don’t they?”

“We do indeed.” Arwen responded.

Jim and Sam both watched the whole proceeding with as much if not more astonishment than their Numenorean friend. Around them was gathered not just a family, and not just a few dozen, but an entire host of armed men and women wearing the flag of a nation which had not existed for thousands of years; a nation which until just a few months before they had thought entirely fictional. And every one of them had come at the call of their rightful king to fulfill an oath which they might not have thought would ever come. As he watched and listened around him he heard every possible European language being spoken by them, including his own native English, as well as their own ancient Elvish tongue. There were light haired Elves, and dark haired men, there was French, German, Spanish, English, and Italian all sharing common cause. Here was a representation of a Europe truly united under one banner and common cause with one king to lead them. It was a Europe born of a single family dedicated to defending it, and on their honor they came when asked by a king the rest of the world didn’t recognize to possibly lay down their lives not just for their own countries, or Europe itself, but for the whole world. What extraordinary people, what an extraordinary bloodline they were! Indeed, the strength found in the Men of the West had not wavered throughout the eons. Not one bit. Here was the evidence of it, right here in front of them.

Both Englishmen felt no little amount of awe at what was transpiring, and of what they had come to be an integral part.

“So, er…” Jim began, addressing Estel. “What now? What’s the plan?”

Estel turned to Jim, and as he did, the Englishman noticed a change about him. He seemed even taller, and his shoulders more broad then they had been before. There was a weight that had settled over him, a mantle which brought about a further regal quality.

“First, we get you, Sam, Eltariel, and I properly equipped for our task.” Estel told him, gesturing to the uniforms and armor the rest were wearing. “Then, we discuss tactics and address our kinsmen.”

It was slight, it might have been a slip of the tongue, but Jim caught it nonetheless. “ _Our_ kinsmen?”

“Whatever happens after this, you and Sam both are my kinsmen, and part of our family.” Estel replied with a sincerity which touched them both. “You both will always have a home among the Dunedain.”

“Well, er… um… I, er… don’t know what to say.” Jim replied, becoming emotional at his proclamation. And then it dawned on him that it was not mere sentiment. These words were coming from the man the Numenoreans recognized as their sovereign king.

“You need say nothing, either of you.” Estel replied. “But time is now not on our side.”

“He’s right.” Eltariel spoke up. “If the nazgul was tracking us by means of the ring, he has to know its closer now than it has been for the last month. It will not be long before they strike first.”

“Right. Back to business then.” Jim recovered himself, oddly thankful for the sobering reminder of being tracked by the ghoulish, undead killer.

* * *

Two hours later…

The polished wooden pews of the sanctuary were packed with soldiers in camouflage uniforms and body armor. Those who could not find a seat stood around the whitewashed walls in between the white columns and under the stations of the cross. All of them bore the flag of Gondor on their uniforms, and all of them waited patiently for their king to address them.

Jim and Sam sat in the very front pew on the left hand side facing the altar of the church. As Estel had promised, they had exchanged their traveling clothes for camouflage colored fatigues and body armor which the Numenoreans had brought with them. Jim had asked where all the weapons, heavy Kevlar vests and padding, and other pieces of their gear had come from, and had been told that Arwen had been keeping it in reserve for a day like this in storage hidden underground on her estate, replacing it and updating it through the years as needed. She had planned for a host of a thousand strong initially based on her records, and even when those numbers dwindled, maintained it just in case the extra might be needed. It had all been distributed as private luggage in locked containers among those who responded directly to Cerin Amroth, with the remainder transported as excess baggage as they flew on private aircraft as well as any last minute passage on the commercial airlines which could be bought in between Brussels and San Jose. She had well over seven hundred people to transport along with their supplies and equipment, and she found ways to bring every last one of them over the Atlantic on time regardless of the cost. She spared nothing from her family’s fortune to ensure all were as equipped for this final confrontation as they could be. They were also incredibly fortunate that they had not been forced to layover in any airports in the United States where their luggage would have been much more heavily scrutinized.

Both Jim and Sam now carried loaded pistols holstered at their hips as well as an assortment of gadgets and implements which would look more appropriate on a soldier or policeman than a bookshop owner and grocer. Sam carried one of those short swords strapped to his thigh like the others, while Jim fingered the hilt of the Elvish dagger he wore at his belt, well aware of its symbolism and its place in history. It was a hidden history that he would now become a part of, with, or without Professor Tolkien to translate and report it. He wondered why fate had chosen him, or rather, why _the ring_ had chosen him to see this through.

Like its predecessor, the ring certainly appeared to have its own mind about things, but unlike its predecessor, that mind did not appear to be inherently evil or malevolent. There were times it appeared to even be beneficial, forcing him to wear it so he would see what was truly happening around him. The only time it truly felt threatening was when it attempted to return to its phantasmic master and creator in that French field. But then, Celebrimbor both begged for the ring to be destroyed and attempted to take it back for himself. He wondered briefly if somehow Celebrimbor’s own essence within the ring had sought him out for some reason. Of course, the thought was silly, but still.

After all were assembled, and with the blessing and permission of Padre Jorge, Estel began to speak to the host of Gondor in Exile. Like the others, he too had changed into the clothing and armaments of modern warfare. The only thing which appeared out of place was the two handed sword Anduril which rested in its scabbard on his back.

“My kinsmen,” he began, “For those who have never seen my face before, I am Aragorn Elessar, forty ninth of that name, heir of Elendil, Isildur, Elessar, and Eldarion, chieftain of the Dunedain and king of Gondor in Exile.” He then held up his left hand clearly displaying the ring of Barahir, the signet of Elendil’s line. “I cannot tell you how much it fills my heart to see you all here and now in answer to my summons. Those of you who know me well know that I would not have invoked the oath if there had been any other way. Many if not most of you came without even knowing the extreme import of our mission here to this land which was forbidden to us by our ancestor, King Elendil. It is true that I have broken a prohibition which was put in place thousands of years even before ancient Gondor fell, and summoned you to break it along with me, giving none of you a real choice in the matter. For this, I take full responsibility here and now before this altar of Eru Iluvatar incarnate and all those kings who have proceeded me. May this guilt lie with me, and me alone. But there is good reason, I assure you.”

There were a few murmurs from those seated and those standing, some nods of approval, some skeptical expressions, but all appeared willing to continue to hear their kinsman’s reasons. Estel then motioned for Jim to join him where he stood in front of the altar, but well beyond the railing where only priests and altar servers may go. Jim, expecting this, rose from the front pew where he sat and joined his friend.

“Show them, my friend.” Estel told him.

Jim then pulled the ring and the necklace which held it out from under his shirt and over his head, dangling it from his raised, closed hand so all present could see its unearthly silvery blue light.

“The ring of Celebrimbor has been found.” Estel announced. “The second ring of domination which was forged unknown to the rest of Middle Earth over a century before the destruction of Sauron’s ring in the fires of Orodruin.”

There were audible gasps and whispers as the ring was held up for everyone to see. Eyes went wide, and serious expressions darkened many faces as they came to put together the reason for their martial gathering. There were still some few from the younger generations who did not fully grasp the meaning of it, but those that did, that remembered the second world war, and their own participation or their parents’ or grandparents’ participation in the hunt for this piece of jewelry, the gravity of the moment was palpable and tangible in the sanctuary.

“We are here at the base of the Turrialba volcano to see this ring destroyed as well. In the most ancient of times, before the sinking of our ancestral homeland of Numenor, this volcano was the forge of the great smith of the Valar, Aule. We cannot throw this ring into the fires where it was forged, because Orodruin is long gone. We cannot risk throwing it into the fires of another mountain such as Etna for the danger to the surrounding towns and cities. Our only recourse is to destroy it in the ancient forge of the Valar themselves, and pray that it is still strong enough to withstand the release of the power contained within the ring. This is why we have broken Elendil’s ancient prohibition and set foot in the remnants of ancient Valinor.”

Estel watched as understanding and acceptance spread over the faces of his kinsmen.

“As many of you have now experienced, we are not the only ones interested in the fate of this ring. Were it so, my companions and I would have seen it done over a month ago, and none of you would have had to leave your jobs, families, or lives. As the ring has been found, so have the ring wraiths resurfaced, and they have massed a host to rival ours in opposition to the destruction of this last reminder of our ancient enemy. Many of you have already seen what they are capable of, and you should know that they will stop at nothing to claim this ring for themselves. If they do, the second world war will be a fond and delightful memory in comparison with what will follow. This cannot be allowed to happen.”

There were many murmurs of agreement, and he could see he had their full and undivided attention.

“Our plan will be similar to that of our ancestors before us. Jim Frudd, Samuel Ogden, and Eltariel will take the ring to the caldera while the rest of us assault the enemy’s base camp head on. We will draw their full attention while the ringbearers take it and throw it into the depths of the volcano where it will be destroyed. We will not be foolish with it. Unlike our ancestors, we do not fight without the expectation of survival. Their forces are already split between the two mountains, and it will take time for their own reinforcements to make the trip once we begin the attack. We will have forces positioned on the roads to waylay them once they come within sight, and weapons ready against the attack helicopters I have been briefed on. The plan is to patrol the town streets again tonight, and then strike the enemy base camp an hour after dawn. Even with the sun covered by the clouds, the wraiths will still be weaker during the daylight hours, and at their full strength during the night. Essence of Kingsfoil has been distributed to all of you in the event you are attacked by one of the wraiths’ weapons, and if it hasn’t, let Autharan or Langlas know and it will be. The Lady Arwen has provided us with Cerin Amroth’s entire reserve supply for this moment, but do not waste it.”

More nods of agreement and understanding followed from those who heard him.

“Finally, I have asked Father Adalbert and Padre Jorge to say Mass for us before the night falls, and to ask for Iluvatar’s blessing upon our endeavor, and his protection upon us all. Tonight and tomorrow, we fight once more against the forces of darkness that seek to twist and corrupt Iluvatar’s song of creation. Make no mistake, we are here to end the hated legacy of Morgoth and Sauron once and for all, and to set free all those still trapped by Celebrimbor’s prideful mistake. As we stand here today in the remnants of ancient Valinor, let us not forget the faith of our fathers and ancestors who chose to remain faithful to Iluvatar and the Valar. Let us not forget what led them to reject Ar-Pharazon’s blasphemous heresy and continue their faith in all that is holy, right, and true. Let us remember their fight against Sauron’s tyranny and corruption of our world. And let us not forget the fulfillment of the ancient promise to Men that Iluvatar would Himself be born as a Man and walk among us. At this time, and every time hence, let us remember that we are the heirs of Numenor, and Lothlorien, and are true Men of the West! And let all those enemies of Eru Iluvatar never forget it!” With these last words, Estel drew Anduril, the sword of the king, from its scabbard on his back and held it aloft for all to see.

There had been a palpable building of energy around the sanctuary as Estel spoke until his final words erupted from his lips, and the entire sanctuary erupted in raised fists and cheers. Every Numenorean, Elf, and those not who were present were on their feet, charged and ready for the upcoming fight they all knew was inevitable. As they did, one cry began to drown out the others as it was picked up by all, “ELESSAR, ELESSAR, ELESSAR!!!”

Estel, hearing them chant his middle name, the royal name of his ancestor, felt both honored and disturbed at the accolade. He then quietly and humbly lowered Anduril, and, turning to face the altar, himself knelt on one knee in submission before it and the crucifix beyond it. He then placed the sword in both his hands and presented it before the altar as an offering.

“By your leave, my Lord.” He then said prayerfully in a low voice.

Seeing their king in such an act of submission, the rest of the congregation followed suit, going to their own knees quietly and prayerfully as Padre Jorge and Father Adalbert began the Mass using the Latin, “ _In Nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritu Sancti, Amen._ ”


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

In Turrialba, Costa Rica…

They appeared not long after the last bit of grayish daylight left the town, and all that remained was the twilight of the street lamps in what would otherwise be a deep and abiding darkness of the night. The foul smelling mist came first, and with it a cold, inexplicable fear as though Death himself were coming for a visit. It would have been bad enough with just dozens, but there appeared to be hundreds of them. One might have been forgiven for thinking that every corpse which had ever been buried near the mountain had been disturbed and raised as the walking dead.

The Numenorians and the Elves who joined them were armed and patrolling the streets of the small city both on foot and in what vehicles they were able to gain access. Some of these carried full flame throwers to be used sparingly, where others carried hairspray cans and cigarette lighters in addition to their assault rifles, pistols, and short swords. The latter makeshift equipment wasn’t ideal, but it would be better than not having any flame at all. There were over a hundred on rooftops to act as spotters, lookouts, and snipers should the need arise. All of these were armed with heavy compound bows and arrows whose heads had been rendered flammable by wrapping oil soaked cloth around them. Open flames had been positioned near every one so they could quickly dispatch their unnatural targets.

The mist filtered down from where the caldera of the volcano sat, and most of the abominations came down the road leading from the same into the town. Some of them appeared to be nearly all skeleton, their eye sockets glowing with an unnatural, sickly green light. These bore knives, rude clubs, and whatever other implements their bony hands and digits could wield. Others still had flesh on them, though grotesquely distorted, and clearly in various stages of decomposition. Some of these looked incredibly fresh as though they could still be living except for their ghastly pallor, vacant eyes, and blank expressions, others had clearly been dead and unpreserved for weeks. These latter, fleshly wights and undead held pistols and rifles.

Estel watched with night vision equipped binoculars from the roof of a building, crouching next to a sniper with horrified fascination.

“It’s been like this every night?” He asked his distaff cousin, a blond German woman with her hair tied back in a functional braid who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She was attractive to be sure, she even possibly could have been a model or television personality though he had never seen nor met her before that day. In his estimation however, she carried herself like, and had the look in her eye of a professional soldier or even police officer. Her name to the rest of the world was “Sofie,” but among their own people her parents had christened her, “Eowyn.”

“Both the past two nights since we arrived, and every night before this for the last three weeks according to the priest.” She told him, her bow held ready in her left hand, an arrow not yet nocked in her right. “Mostly they shamble through the town shooting or stabbing anything or anyone which moves, except for their own of course. In the morning, people caught outside are missing. There are never any corpses that remain.”

“Have we lost anyone?” Estel asked.

“Three the first night, none the second once we figured out how to destroy them.” Sofie replied.

“Did you know who they were?” Estel asked, feeling the weight of his kinsmen’s deaths on his conscience.

She then turned and looked at him, “Not personally, no. We’d not met before the flight here. I didn’t know their names. One was an accountant from Zurich. Another was an office manager from Warsaw. I don’t remember where the third was from. Why?”

“I will need to find out and contact their families.” Estel answered. “Those who aren’t already here. If they had children, they will need to be brought to Cerin Amroth and cared for when this is all done.”

“If we all survive it.” She answered, turning her eyes back to the scene down on the streets. “Not all of us were fortunate enough to receive combat training in our lives.”

“You don’t look uneasy with it.” Estel observed.

“I volunteered for the _Bundeswehr_ in two thousand and two after they decided to let women into combat roles. I spent two years in Afghanistan before coming back to manage my family’s horse ranch near Hanover.” She answered before dipping the arrow’s cloth wrapped head into the flame, setting it alight. “I grew ill from watching friends die in that hellhole.”

She nocked the arrow, drew, and with careful, practiced precision let it fly. They both watched at the light from the flame silently streaked through the darkness and the mist and embedded itself in its undead target, setting it ablaze. The monster burned where it stood, laughably trying to pull the arrow out of itself as the fire consumed what clothing it still wore. Around them, more arrows streaked silently through the air from the rooftops, their presence only made visible for the flames they carried to their goals.

Estel went silent as he joined her with his own bow, striking his own targets with precision, the flaming arrows doing their jobs. Thoughts entered his mind of who the corpses might have been in life. Were they sons? Had they been daughters? Someone’s plumber? Someone’s lover? This went on for several moments before he shoved all such thoughts out of his mind. Whatever they had been before, they were no longer.

It wasn’t the first time he had encountered such horrors. Once in Poland in nineteen forty three he and his unit were scouting out the camp at Auschwitz, trying to figure out how to free those innocents trapped inside the death machine. The smells of the cremation fires were awful, but they were preferable to what happened with those corpses the Nazis did not burn. The undead had only been stories before he and his unit encountered them at night, naked, skeletal, with sickly green glowing eyes. Three of the men were lost to them, the fourth was remanded to an asylum once they returned to their main force. Only he escaped with both his life and his sanity, though he was not always so lucky with his dreams since that night. He never learned what black sorcery had given them their “unlife.”

Around them, arrows flew like silent tracer fire in the night as the undead began to multiply. The Numenoreans lit them up like candles wherever they could. Soon after the arrows began to fly, jets of fire could be seen up and down the streets as the undead were sprayed with it. Shots rang out from poorly aimed weapons, and these flashes too contributed to the atmosphere of the rapidly heating battle.

“Can I ask you a question, your majesty?” Sofie asked him in-between shots.

“Please, don’t call me that. Call me Estel.” Estel told her, still uncomfortable with the title, especially in the presence of one he’d gladly consider a comrade-in-arms.

“ _Nein_.” she flatly refused before shooting another creature in the chest.

“Why ever not?” Estel asked, confused.

“Because it’s your duty and your responsibility.” she answered somewhat curtly. “I joined the military because I believed it my duty to Germany. I answered your call because it was my duty to fulfill my oath to the king of Gondor, in exile or not. To cheapen your duty is to cheapen my own, and I answered the summons for a purpose. It is your duty to lead Gondor whether in the white city or just among our relatives. Just because we no longer have a capital doesn’t make you any less who you are than the Windsors in England, your majesty.” She let fly another flaming projectile striking a skeleton’s ghastly glowing skull and shattering it. “My father would be horrified to hear you ask me that.”

Around them, the sounds and flashes of gunfire and the sprays from flamethrowers echoed through the city.

“Who is your father?” he asked as he too drew and fired on yet another monstrosity.

“In our family he is known as Amdir son of Artamir.” She responded. “He is patrolling the west side of the city tonight.”

Amdir was an old family name, and Estel didn’t know its present owner personally, but he recognized the name of Artamir well. “I knew your grandfather. He answered my father’s call during the Nazi regime, and fought alongside him. He was a good man, and very disciplined.”

“He died alongside him too.” Sofie replied, a soft accusation in her voice. “I never knew him, but only heard stories.” She then added, “My father always said it might not have happened if your father had understood his duty and responsibility too. A lot of people might not have died.”

She fired off another arrow then turned her head to look at him in the eye, “We did not want to leave our home, but we were both _glad_ to receive the summons from the Lady Arwen. We _gladly_ left everything behind to serve our king knowing we would have the full might of our people alongside us.”

“My father was trying to spare people their lives.” He retorted.

“And how did that work out, hmm?” she returned just as quickly, and she could see it bit harder than intended. She softened her tone a bit as she added, “It is good that you care about people. Too few rulers do not. But fate demands that we be who we are, regardless of what it costs us in nightmares, guilt, or personal pain, your majesty. I am both German and Dunedain whether I want to be or not. It is my duty to serve both allegiances. You were born a king of Gondor whether you want to be or not, and whether or not the world thinks such a place is a fantasy because of some English professor. Fate knows better, and demands better from you.”

They were both silent after that, getting back to their task at hand.

After several more minutes, Estel asked, “What was the question you wanted to ask me?”

She paused for a moment, still keeping her sharp eyes trained on the street below, and then asked, “What will you do when this is all over?”

“What do you mean?” he answered with his own question.

“There were always stories of you as well going around our family. I know you’ve spent most of your life trying to find the ring and destroy it. I figured that the summons had something to do with this. What else could be so important? But once it’s destroyed, what then? Will you disappear again into the shadows like the mercenary I’ve heard about, or will you do something more?” She asked him.

It was a pointed and penetrating question. In truth, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. The most he had considered about it was losing and accepting the loss of his _edhelvain_ once this was all done. The truth was he had no idea what to do with the rest of his two hundred plus year long lifespan. He told her as much, though he left his feelings about the Elf woman unmentioned. “I haven’t given it as much thought as I should have. I suppose I always thought I’d finish my days living quietly at Cerin Amroth, maybe raise a family of my own at some point.”

“Europe may not be the Gondor of our ancestors, but it still needs good leaders. There are threats to it from both the east and the west now more insidious than ever. It will need a strong and compassionate voice to guide it in the coming times.” she answered him as though she had given it much more consideration than he considered possible. “I heard that voice coming from you earlier before the Mass. Our lands have been governed by waning stewards for a long time, but what it needs is its true king guiding it through the darkness.”

“I… er…” this was a thing he had never in his life considered even a remote possibility.

“Just think on it, your majesty. Ancient magic rings and wraiths are not our world’s only problems.” Sofie told him before returning to their task.

* * *

In the church of San Buenaventura…

Jim and Sam both could hear the sounds of automatic and pistol gunfire even from where they were within the protection of the church’s walls. The voices of those men and women out their bravely facing down the walking dead sounded off through the radios they had as they coordinated their attacks and strikes. This accompanied by the veil of cold fear which had settled over the city had both Englishmen’s hearts racing. Every shot, every pop, every shout from without the walls and knowing what was the cause weighed heavily on both men even as it did those few others who remained there.

Nearby, Eltariel kept watch on the doors, while the Lady Arwen had joined Padre Jorge and Father Adalbert in the sanctuary of the church praying. Unknown to the Costa Rican priest, her prayers were also active in fueling the protective barrier of the Elven ring the Elf matriarch wore which now extended around the grounds and buildings of the church. No undead fiend would be able to reach the entryways of the church through its holy, light filled energies.

Still, in spite of those extraordinary protections, and knowing that nothing unholy or malevolent could pass through the church under such shielding as it now enjoyed, Jim paced the tile of the interior office where they waited until the dawn hour. He could not sit. He could not bring himself to sit. Sam occasionally stood up from the upholstered chair where he sat and went to the office window before he returned.

“I don’t like this.” Jim would say every so often as the minutes turned into hours.

“What’s there to like, mate?” Sam would question in response, his tone an attempt at ironic humor. “We’re in the middle of a Central American town besieged by nightmare zombies. Why wouldn’t anyone like this?”

“I just wish…” Jim then broke off. “Well, I’ve said it all before haven’t I?” He asked, knowing full well that he had.

“You have.” Eltariel confirmed for him. “You wish there was something you could do. You hate just sitting here listening to all of it. I too wish I was out there helping. So does the Lady Arwen. So does Father Adalbert. I know them. None of us are without skill or experience in warfare. But that would only leave you and the ring exposed to our enemy, and that is an unnecessary risk. You want to do something to help, but by waiting here where the evil cannot reach us you are already doing it.”

“Well,” he couldn’t argue with her logic. Not the first time, nor the second, nor this time or any in between either. “It doesn’t feel like I’m doing anything.” Jim responded, slightly more mollified.

“Hang on, when did Father Adalbert have experience in warfare? I thought he was a Jesuit all his life.” Sam asked. It was the first time she had mentioned it.

“When he was a young man he fought in the French Revolution against the monarchy. It was part of what led him to join the Church.” Eltariel explained. “He wanted redemption for those things he felt guilty of.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised not having expected such an answer. Jim tried to imagine what kinds of things, and then immediately stopped himself. He knew the history of France’s republic as well as most people, and the atrocities which had been committed on both sides. It was hard to imagine the gentle priest as having partaken in such things.

“I suppose I would have too from what I’ve read of it.” Jim said.

“If the _Assassin’s Creed_ game on it was anything to go by, I’d be wanting to get myself clean from it too. That was a brutal time.” Sam then added. “All the beheadings and such.”

“Brutal would have been an understatement.” Eltariel agreed, her eyes drifting just a little as if at a clear memory.

The sounds of the battle across the city continued into the night as the defenders of the small city stood fast against the horrors which were unleashed upon them.

* * *

Elsewhere in the city of Turrialba…

Gondeg and Autharan had their own fair share of nightmare kills that evening. The two cousins worked well together as a team in the twilight of the street lamps. Neither carried the full flamethrower units, but instead made do with several spray canisters of cheap aerosol hairspray absconded with from a local store not far from the church, and disposable cigarette lighters to provide the all too necessary flame. Of course that meant they had to get up close more intimately than was comfortable for either of them to the horrors as the makeshift flame units did not have the range that the full military equipment did. Unlike some of their more white collar kinsmen however, they both possessed much experience with fighting in close quarters having also been an active part of their Grandmother’s search for the ring for decades.

Bullets were useless against the fiends unless you wasted a clip destroying the head, and this would only blind and deafen them sending them shooting or stabbing in all directions and increasing their threat. The better plan, if they had to disable them before torching them, was to use their blades to lop off the hands. This deprived them of their physical weapons, literally “disarming” the monsters.

It did nothing however for their first and most effective weapon, the fear and revulsion the undead engendered upon sight. It was a powerful, primal response to flee from them rather than attack. Every horror movie either man had ever watched, every nightmare they had ever dreamed seemed to come to life in these encounters. Both men had seen prior combat. Both men had seen the horrors of war firsthand in several battles throughout the decades. Both had thought themselves hardened to anything.

Both were wrong on that count. The fear never got easier, and neither did the revulsion and deep sense of grief when they encountered those whom they knew had been innocents from the town returned to wreak unholy havoc.

They had just dispatched one such, a Costa Rican girl of no more than twelve before she had died and been taken by the ghouls’ deathly masters. She had not been dead for long either. Autharan had tears of both rage and grief in his eyes as he disarmed the creature before beheading with his own blades, allowing Gondeg the chance to draw close enough to set it and its members alight.

“How could anyone do this to one so young? How could anyone desecrate something so precious?” Autharan asked. “She wasn’t much older than my daughter.” he told his cousin as he stared at the body being consumed by the flames.

“I know, cousin.” Gondeg replied, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. Gondeg had no wife or children himself, but he had met Autharan’s young family more than once. They did not live far from Cerin Amroth. His cousin’s wife was not of their kin, and so had not come, and none of Autharan’s children had been old enough to take the oath. But they were, even to Gondeg, a breath of fresh air and a promise of something approaching a normal life when this was all over. He did not know the emotions the man must have been feeling just then, but he mourned with him just the same for as many short moments as they both could allow for.

And then something moved in the deep shadows nearby, and those moments were ended.

“Over there. Movement.” Gondeg told his cousin in a low voice, pointing with his chin to the shadows across the street in an alley between two three story buildings, probably the tallest structures in the town.

“I saw.” Autharan replied, and regained his composure quickly. There was still a job to do.

They both crept quietly to the sides of the alley where they had seen the shadows move in a way they shouldn’t. Autharan had his blades out while Gondeg was ready once more with his lighter and spray can. They both listened intently for the tell tales sounds of the walking dead.

But there was nothing. It was even more silent than the grave should have been. And it felt colder there than it even had elsewhere in the mist shrouded town. The fear which fell over them before intensified, but both men held their ground as they observed and waited to strike at what they were certain was another of the ghouls.

Silence. No movement. No sounds. Just the increasing feeling of dread which neither man could shake.

And then the darkness jumped out at them faster than either man could react. The last thing either Autharan or Gondeg felt were cold, ice cold blades running through their body armor and piercing their hearts. The last things either man saw were deathly black robes and cowl with no face beneath it as though Death had bothered to come for them himself instead of sending a lackey.

* * *

On a rooftop in Turrialba…

The onslaught of undead appeared to be leveling off as midnight approached. It was well that it did, because Estel’s and Sofie’s arrows were nearly spent. After that initial conversation, neither had spoken much, concentrating on the task at hand, and they did not return to their previous topics either. Estel received updates over their radios and issued direction where it was asked for.

He had purposefully kept their less experienced fighters towards the better lit areas of the town and away from the forward entry point of the fiends. His reasoning was that those less experienced would be able to clean up whatever stragglers the archers and experienced fighters and mercenaries didn’t catch. He made sure to learn who had military experience and who didn’t before the sun went down and assigned them accordingly. Most of the Elvenkind were serving as their snipers along with those of his kin who were well experienced with a bow. This only made sense to him and to them. Their eyes and ears were quite literally sharper than any of the rest of them.

He was listening intently for the radio when a voice he did not recognize came over it. A voice which was higher pitched, wheezing, and hauntingly ghastly in its quality, “ _Two of you lay dead at my feet. Bring us the ringbearer,_ _Dunedain,_ _or none of you will live to see the_ _morning_ _._ ”

Estel grabbed the radio and nearly shouted into it, “Where are you, fiend! Stop hiding in the shadows and face me yourself!”

“ _All in good time, Dunadan. You have one hour to bring the ringbearer to our camp._ ” The deathly voice answered, its tone mocking.

“Try it and we will commit you and all your kind to the flames.” Estel challenged it over the radio.

His answer was a haunting, demonic laughter. “ _You cannot burn what you cannot see in the darkness, Dunadan, and it_ _can_ _get_ _very dark indeed._ ”

Suddenly there was an explosion in the distance as several electrical transformers blew simultaneously. The power went out across the city, and all the artificial lighting went dark plunging them all into a pitch black night that was so thick it could be felt. Around them, personal torches and helmet lamps went on among the Dunedain. The light was bright, but directed and did not always help to see around them. Not all of them were equipped with night vision goggles either. The Elves had an easier time, their eyes adjusting better than those of more human descent, but there still had to be some light source to work from, even for them.

“ _You have one hour._ ” The voice of the _nazgul_ repeated over their radios, and every person near one heard it.

Not far off, Estel saw and heard flashes of gunfire and heard the terrified screams of another of his kin from the heavy darkness. While not every enemy’s move can always be anticipated, he cursed himself for not anticipating this one. A number of scenarios to counter the ring wraith’s move flashed through his mind quickly. Finally, taking everything into consideration as he could, he pulled out his smart phone and sent first an SMS message to Eltariel, and then one massive group text message to everyone on the rooftops and on the ground. The radios were compromised, so cellular phones would have to make do, assuming the towers were still functioning after the loss of the transformer.

“What do we do now, your majesty?” Sofie asked him, a genuine hint of fear in her voice.

Without hesitation he gave her the gist of his orders to everyone, “Our schedule just got moved up. We move to attack the camp now.”

* * *

At the church of San Buenaventura…

Eltariel’s smart phone went off and she read the text from Estel. She and her two charges heard the nazgul’s threat loud and clear as everyone else with a radio did. Her own mind raced with their options. She knew the ring wraiths and their capabilities better than anyone. She knew the threat was not idle. One wraith alone could turn a battle, but if there were more than one in pitch black darkness accompanied by their undead minions? They could decimate their forces to nothing and none of them would see Death coming.

She typed a one word reply to let him know she had received it and then left Sam and Jim in the church office without explanation for several minutes as she ran down the hall towards the sanctuary. When she returned, the Lady Arwen was with her.

“It’s time.” She told the two Englishman, her mistress at her side. “Grab your climbing gear, and let’s go.”

“Wait, what? It’s only just after midnight. It’s still at least six hours until dawn.” Sam protested.

“If we wait until dawn, everyone else out there will be dead by then.” She replied. “The Lady Arwen and we will group up with the two units around the building. Nenya goes with us. The wraiths will not be able to penetrate its power. All of us will meet up with the rest of our forces on the north side of town like we planned. We travel with them for part of the way along the road and then we travel parallel to them off the road so the wraiths won’t know we aren’t among them. By the time they figure it out, we’ll be at the caldera.”

“But there weren’t any zombies or wraiths between here and there when we first planned it.” Sam retorted.

“Well, now we have to improvise a bit, don’t we?” The Lady Arwen spoke up. “If we stay here in fear of our own lives, everyone outside of this church dies horribly, and that is not acceptable.”

“No. It’s not.” Jim then spoke up, shoving his own panic aside and focusing on why he came. He shouldered the rope and climbing gear he was to carry. “We’re here to do a job, Sam. No one said it would be easy.”

“All too true.” Sam conceded picking up his own gear. “Alright, let’s do this.”


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Near the caldera of the Turrialba Volcano one hour later…

The camp was lit dimly by generators powering lamps that struggled against the darkness which surrounded those within it. Those human mercenaries within it, some from Europe, most from Central America, shivered frequently at the unnatural chill in the air which they just couldn’t shake. The stench of volcanic gasses hung heavy in the equally unnatural mist, but that was nothing against the stench of the rotting corpses which the black robed bosses insisted be brought back. For all of these men, it was the worst job they had ever taken, and only the seemingly endless supply of money kept them there.

And the fact that those who chose to quit hadn’t been heard from since.

No one ever saw the faces of those who paid them. They were always hidden deeply under their grim reaper like robes and cowls. They had no idea what nationality they might be, or where they came from. All they knew was that they did pay, and they paid well; five thousand US dollars a day per man for the last month paid every morning before dawn. For those men who stayed on the job, that was all that mattered. They’d put up with and worked for petty would be dictators, drug lords who had no trouble dining next to freshly bleeding corpses, pimps who needed their whores tracked down, and other employers who could only be described as “evil” before this. Creepiness aside, these bosses were no different except they paid better and on time.

And for the most part, they had been paid for doing nothing but guarding the huge hole in the earth which formed the mouth of the volcano. Sure, they’d had to take care of some locals and some tourists, rough a few people up, dispose of a few bodies, but it wasn’t anything too taxing. Five thousand a day for sitting on their hind ends for several weeks and putting up with some freaky employers who even greased the palms of the local police and military to look the other way? For many of them, it was the easiest job they’d ever done, if not the most comfortable.

The camp was situated at the end of the road which snaked up the living green of the mountain from the town. They had a few guys, maybe twenty at most patrolling around the areas of the caldera’s rim which had no road access, but the bulk of their people were there at the end of the road making sure no one got near the mouth of it. Why anyone would really want to was a mystery to everyone but the bosses, but they were explicit in their orders. No one got near the mouth of the volcano that wasn’t one of them. The same was true of the caldera at Turrialba’s twin, Irazu.

The headlights of a lone vehicle could be seen coming up the road towards the camp. Those in the camp weren’t expecting anyone. The mercenaries and guards stood up and cocked their weapons nervously in response. As the vehicle drew closer, they could see it looked like an old Toyota Hilux, the kind of truck with which many if not most of them were very familiar. It tended to be a favorite in third world countries because it had a reputation for being nearly indestructible, and easily repairable with parts available no matter where you were in the world. The high beams and fog lights were both brightly lit as it rounded the last corner and turned directly for the camp.

The intense bright light blinded the guards whose eyes had become accustomed to the low light the bosses insisted on. They couldn’t see anything as the truck revved its engine and increased in speed directly for the middle of the camp and the mouth of the volcano beyond it. Men began firing their weapons wildly and blindly in the general direction of the speeding vehicle until it crashed into a helicopter which had been sitting idle for some time, pushing it back until the landing struts collapsed and the helicopter’s body hit the ground. The helicopter brought the vehicle mostly to a halt as the entire camp went into an uproar at the commotion and mercenaries began running towards the crashed truck.

The next thing many of them knew was a fiery intense pain. The truck exploded in a massive fireball, setting off the helicopter’s fuel as well, causing a secondary explosion which rocked the mercenary camp sending everyone and everything in it into confusion.

And then came the gunfire as the entire perimeter of the camp erupted with automatic weapons fire and the mercenaries who had been sitting guarding the mouth of a volcano found themselves under heavy attack from well armed and well coordinated enemies all around them that they couldn’t see at first for the heavy darkness and the temporary blindness of the explosions and the damnable truck’s bright lights.

* * *

Just west of the road near the mercenary camp…

Jim and Sam hazarded a look at the camp once they themselves stopped rolling from having jumped from the back of the Hilux alongside the Lady Arwen who herself landed in the brush and earth much, much more gracefully than the two Englishmen. Eltariel had been the last to vacate the vehicle after ensuring that it would reach the center of the fortified encampment. She had jumped from the driver’s seat with the remote detonator in hand, landing on both her feet, but ducking low and out of sight quickly in a way that only Elves really could. As soon as the helicopter broke the truck’s momentum, she hit the switch which set off the explosives and containers of gasoline which had been placed in the truck’s bed and rear cab.

In a way, Jim was sorry to see the Hilux get destroyed. It had become almost a member of their party itself. But, he supposed, if they had to lose it, there was no finer way for it to go out than fighting. He bid the truck a quiet and heartfelt farewell before turning to his best mate and asking, “Are you alright?”

“Fine. And you?” Sam asked.

“Just some scrapes and bruises, nothing that won’t heal up.” Jim responded.

Jim checked to make certain he hadn’t lost any of the gear they might need for reaching the volcano’s mouth. The ropes, grapples, and everything else he carried were all still there. Sam did the same and found everything right where he left it on his person. The two elf women carried similar kit, but for some reason they seemed to carry it… more elegantly and gracefully. The book shop owner didn’t even know how that was possible, but there it was. He and Sam both felt a little ruder and clumsier in their constant presence.

“Are you both alright?” Came the Lady Arwen’s genuinely concerned voice followed by her maternally concerned expression. She herself looked no worse the wear, and didn’t even appear to have been winded by the exertion.

“We’re good to go.” Sam responded for the both of them as Eltariel joined them once she was certain the camp was in a complete uproar.

“Good. Stay close to me the both of you.” Arwen told the two Englishmen. “As long as we’re together, Nenya can protect us all from any harm.”

“Right.” Jim affirmed, having no intention of letting the Elven matriarch out of his line of sight.

“We’ll have to get around closer to the back side to avoid the fighting.” Eltariel told them, pointing with her hand. “That way.”

“Lead the way.” Sam remarked.

* * *

In the encampment…

Estel and Sofie fought side by side and back to back as they moved through the encampment expertly, gunning down any resistance they encountered. Their trip up the mountain had been in the back of a four wheel drive pickup truck running with its lights off as it took the gentle slopes of the mountain in stride. It had been the same with the rest of their kinsmen, using whatever vehicles they could to reach their rendezvous point within the time frame they had been given. It was dangerous offroading to be sure, but it was also the only way for any of them to take the mercenaries within by surprise.

Anyone who raised a weapon against them was shot without warning and without mercy. Anyone who dropped their weapons and surrendered was left where he or she was. The fires from the initial explosions began to spread, and these were encouraged. Estel had given explicit instructions to spread the fires and cause new ones to spread over any corpses they created or encountered. He didn’t know how quickly the wraiths could raise their wights, and neither did he want to find out. The flames also gave them a tactical advantage over the wraiths themselves who could not bear them.

They had lost another twenty three kinsmen before their forces vacated the town for the journey up the mountain, whether to the wraiths in the town or to the undead they were hunting was unknown to him. Father Adalbert had not met them at the rendezvous, and neither had Gondeg nor Autharan, both whom were like brothers to him. Sofie’s father, Amdir had not arrived either. Their losses were tempered into the cold anger which drove them to continue their assault, moving through the mercenaries efficiently and effectively.

The original plan had been to launch an attack on both camps to keep the wraiths guessing as to which volcano they were attempting to use. They had come up with that after the Mass had ended and before the patrol, but a nazgul on the loose in pitch black darkness forced them to concentrate on the one. Darkness was the nazgul’s own element and natural environment. He had to get his people moving and away from it to a theater of war more favorable to themselves. Of course that left the people of Turrialba without anyone to defend them that night, but Estel was gambling that once the wraith realized they and the ring were heading towards the camp that it and its undead minions would follow and leave the townspeople be.

Around them gunfire went off adding to the light from the fires as they continued to move through. On Estel’s orders, the second helicopter was exploded with a grenade even as the pilot attempted to start it up. This was carried out by those in the frontal assault who had either military training or had been taught the arts of war by Arwen and others at Cerin Amroth. Those who had next to no experience with such things came behind to clean up and watch those who had ostensibly surrendered.

They moved swiftly through the camp. The wraiths’ mercenaries were skilled, and several put up a reasonable, well trained resistance. Sofie mentioned a few times that she recognized one or more of the mercenaries from her time in Afghanistan. They had been hot headed thugs employed by the American company Blackwater, and despised by her own German superiors especially for their brutality and cruelty against anyone they targeted as a terrorist. This had been most of the Afghan people. She had a cold look in her eye as she dispatched them.

“How much longer do you think?” She asked Estel.

“I don’t know. It depends on how many of them are still around the perimeter of the caldera.” Estel responded, knowing to what she was referring. “At this rate, I don’t expect this firefight to last much longer.”

“It’s not these thugs that concern me, your majesty.” Sofie returned. “It’s their fresh reinforcements from Irazu. With all the noise and this light show we’ve created, they have to know what’s happening here. They have to be able to see it. I’d estimate their ETA to be less than one hour.”

“I know, but for now that is Radagast’s problem to deal with.” Estel told her, having worked out the math for himself. “I am more concerned for the wraiths that are here.”

“Speaking of which, why haven’t we seen any? I would have thought they would have engaged us right away.” Sofie observed.

Estel considered the question even as they both took fire from their right and had to find cover quickly behind some burning wreckage. They both returned fire on their attackers until a spray of gunfire from another direction caused their attacker to fall silent.

“Because they’re not here.” Estel then answered her, realizing that there was at least one down in the town, possibly two. Both would be headed back up the road if they hadn’t have followed the Hilux on its way. The scouts had seen four in either camp. That left two more in this camp assuming they weren’t with their fellows down in the town, but there was no trace of them to be seen.

“Then where are they?” His kinswoman questioned.

A cold shiver of fear crept up his spine for the party of four headed for the caldera.

* * *

In the caldera of the Turrialba Volcano…

It had taken the four nearly thirty minutes to get around the camp and into a more gentle, sloping entrance to the volcanic ash, rock, and dust of the volcano’s caldera. In the fiery orange light of the blazing encampment above them, the outlines of the caldera and the mouth of the volcano could be decently seen, if not completely clearly. The truth was it appeared and smelled as close to hell as Jim ever wanted to be. It was ironic because the photos he had seen of it online on the journey to Costa Rica were actually quite spectacular, and he could understand then why it had become such a tourist spot. But in the dead of night with no moon, no starlight, the volcano’s continuous belching of smoke and gasses, and only the light of flames and the sounds of gunfire and terrific explosions in the back ground, tourism was not what came to mind.

They hadn’t needed to use the ropes and grapples like they thought they might, though Jim wasn’t sure about the way back out of the caldera. The loose volcanic debris still made it treacherous to walk down the slope into the crater. Still, they pressed onwards towards the rising smoke and rocky cliff where the mouth was located.

Dark shadows played across the crater as they went, and loose rock was everywhere, but the way forward for them was surprisingly clear and straightforwards. Briefly, he thought of how much easier of a time than his predecessor he was having it. Frodo and Samwise were dehydrated, starving, and exhausted by the time they reached Orodruin and its internal pool of magma. While he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have welcomed a good night’s sleep and warm English meal, he was no where near as worse for the wear, and neither was Sam. Neither did they have an escort of Elven women not unskilled in the fighting arts, one of whom had personally dispatched each of the nazgul in turn; more than once.

All things considered, their odds at accomplishing their mission were surprisingly far higher than those two Hobbit heroes of the third age. And for some reason or another, Jim felt a tinge of guilt or shame at that fact. He had been given this grand adventure where his own life really hadn’t been at serious risk in any part of it. Even the ring he carried had not been so malevolent as to attempt to possess him as Frodo’s had. He felt under no compulsion to keep the ring at all and his only hesitancy at disposing of it was because it meant the end of that grand adventure and a return to his quiet, ordinary routine. The ring Frodo bore nearly took his life.

_I could have only wished that your journey would have been as easy as mine has been, Mr. Frodo._ Jim thought.

They crossed the tiny desert of volcanic soil and drew close to the mouth. It was really quite strange because Jim would have expected it to have grown warmer near the mouth, but instead he felt a kind of chill as the temperature around him seemed to drop rather suddenly as though a bubble of frigid air had just appeared around them.

“Why’s it gotten so cold all of a sudden?” Sam asked, confirming Jim’s own senses on the matter.

Eltariel and Arwen then went rigid, their own senses alert and heightened as the Lady told them all, “Switch on your lights.”

Jim pulled his hand torch from where it had sat on his belt and switched it on. It was one of those black, aircraft aluminum torches that boast it could throw a beam of light for miles. Sam and the two Elf women did the same. They cast wide beams, lighting up the path ahead of them.

Immediately three black robed creatures two dozen yards ahead of them screeched as though in pain. The ring wraiths had been waiting for them, swords out, and now stood in between them and the black abyss into which they intended to cast Celebrimbor’s ring. Their free hands went up to their faceless hoods to block the beams of light being cast at them, but they held their ground, not moving from where they stood in spite of the obvious pain the light from the hand torches was causing them.

“ _GIVE US THE RING!!!_ ” They screeched at the four.

Jim was still trying to process the fact that three actual nazgul were standing in the way when Arwen drew her own Elvish blade and called back in a challenge, “Your master is no more, and you will soon join him!!! If you want it, come and get it!!!”

At the same time, Eltariel drew her own blades of distinctly ancient Elvish make and assumed a fighting stance with them, yet she remained close in proximity to Arwen. They both stood in between Jim and Sam and the nazgul as a shield.

“ _Foolish Elf girl!!!”_ the lead wraith returned, not moving _. “You thought we would not realize why you wanted to come here!! You thought we would not remember the fall of Barad-dur!!_ ”

Behind them could be heard the sounds of shuffling feet.

“ _You thought you could dissuade us with your artificial light!_ ” the nazgul then told them. “ _Did you really think you could win this time? Mordor will rise again, beginning here in this very place, and there is nothing you can do to stop it._ ”

Jim then slowly turned his light to look behind them and wished he hadn’t. At least two dozen walking corpses had emerged from the shadows and were heading straight for them. “Oh dear.” He muttered, turning back to his companions.

“Jim! Sam!” Arwen called to them even as she nodded without speaking to Eltariel who tightened her grip on her weapons. “I need you to trust me and do what I say when I say it!”

“What?! Yes, of course! Anything!” Jim replied.

“Yeah, what Jim said!” Sam concurred as the zombies drew closer.

“Take my hand, put on the ring and call out the enchantment on it!” Arwen told him.

“What?! You want me to put it on?! Now?!” Jim asked in disbelief as the three nazgul waited expectantly for their minions to finish them off.

“Yes! Put it on and call out the Elvish inscription on it!” Arwen told him.

“I don’t remember it!” Jim told her. He could in fact recite Sauron’s original black speech inscription by heart, but he knew that was not the Elvish Celebrimbor had inscribed inside and out on this ring.

Then Eltariel called out the words clear enough for him to hear them, “ _Er Corma ilyar turien, Er Corma tuvien te, Er Corma tucien ar ancalimasse nutien te.”_ They were not the Sindarin he had come to hear so much of in these past months, but the more ancient and somewhat more sacred seeming Quenya, the ancient language from which, according to Tolkien, all languages appeared to descend. She repeated them once more, and as she did, he felt a surge of energy and power emanating from the piece of jewelry.

Then he understood, or at least thought he understood what the ancient Elf Lady was up to. Jim removed the ring from its chain, took Arwen’s right hand in his own so that she faced the nazgul and he the undead behind them. He then slipped the ring on his finger and the world around him changed. He could see the undead, but also saw there was a deep darkness which was animating them, a foul energy that moved them, but there was no trace of their souls. Those had long since fled. He also knew instinctively that the nazgul could see him quite clearly now even with his back to them, and they were being whipped into a frenzy.

He could feel the power of the ring he now wore once more, but for the first time, he didn’t fear it. He knew it wouldn’t consume him as he had no intentions of keeping it and he was intent on seeing it destroyed. No mortal should ever be tempted with the power he now wielded. He felt as though he could command armies, move mountains, even bring down the heavens themselves with such power.

Feeling Arwen’s hand in his own he then heard her voice clearly cry out “Now, Jim!”

He began chanting the words loud and strong, putting power and force behind them and was amazed at the amount of power which began to emanate through him as he raised the ring high and cried out, “ _ER CORMA ILYAR TURIEN, ER CORMA TUVIEN TE, ER CORMA TUCIEN AR ANCALIMASSE NUTIEN TE!!!_ ”

In that moment, in that second of power, his voice was no longer his own but sounded like a thousand thunders echoing across the caldera to his ears, like the crashing waves of the ocean, like the power of the Greek gods of old had come upon him. In that moment he knew what it meant to be the Lord of the One Ring.

Then, almost simultaneously Arwen held up her left hand, the hand that bore Nenya and cried out as though speaking both a prayer and a spell in her own tongue, “ _A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon si di’ nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!_ ”

And in spite of his ignorance of the Sindarin language, he knew what she said, and to whom she was crying out, the ancient consort of Manwe, Varda Elentari, the Vala called the Queen of the Stars. It was an ancient Elvish plea of deliverance from death to the Valar, and was somewhat similar in tone to the Roman Catholic “Hail Mary...”

From Jim’s own memories came other prayers and other invocations from his nominal time spent during his childhood in the Anglican Church. A similar line known through the Christian faith regardless of denomination escaped his own lips, enhanced and driven by the power of the one ring, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for you are with me…”

Around him Jim could feel the power building and combining with the power of the protective ring Arwen wore, the one feeding the other until he would have sworn there was nothing in heaven or on earth which could challenge the two of them. And then a last and final cry escaped his lips, one likewise in Quenya which he knew by heart from Tolkien’s works, “ _Aiya Earendil elenion ancalima!”_

And then the whole crater exploded in pure, holy Light. The protective barrier of holy light which Nenya afforded pushed outwards like a tsunami, powered by the one ring which Jim bore. It slammed into the undead, burning and incinerating them until nothing remained. He did not know what the result was behind him which Arwen was viewing, but he could not have imagined the nazgul fared well from the intensity and force behind the light which now flooded the caldera.

Then he heard Arwen’s voice cry out to him and Sam, “Now Jim! Sam! While they’re down! Get it to the mouth and destroy it!”

It took him a moment to process her words. It took him another moment to follow through. The power he felt was intoxicating. He need never go back to his book shop. He need never go back to being ordinary. For just a moment, he was tempted.

And then he thought of what his aunt and uncle would say to him if he gave in, and he couldn’t bear the thought.

He pulled the ring off and was immediately transported back into the caldera. Sam and Eltariel both had backed away several meters from he and Arwen, and both had looks of both awe and fear on their faces. When the ring came off, he felt small again. Powerless. Ordinary.

But he would be able to answer his uncle’s voice honestly, “I didn’t give in.”

He turned to face where the nazgul had been standing to see three black shapes on the ground, white flames erupting from their robes, but they were still moving.

“What are you waiting for?!” Eltariel shouted at him. “We’ll finish them off! You two get going!”

Jim looked at Sam who had recovered himself. Sam nodded.

“Right then.” Jim said. “Let’s go, Sam.”

“Right. Let’s end this.” Sam responded, and the two men sprinted for the mouth of the volcano, leaping over the black forms of the wraiths on the ground. Celebrimbor’s ring was held tightly in Jim’s hand, and he couldn’t wait to throw it into the black abyss of the mountain’s heart. Strangely, the smoke and gasses which had been nearly constant for years had ceased for the moment, as though in anticipation of their arrival. They reached the gaping maw, and Jim flung the ring into the abyssal darkness, achieving the culmination of months of research, travel, and pursuit. He and Sam both then waited for a response, any response from the mountain to be sure.

Behind them, Eltariel and Arwen had wasted no time in seeing to the three nazgul. The two Elf women leaped on them with their swords even as the creatures of darkness began to rise from where they had been overwhelmed and tortured by the light.

Jim and Sam continued to wait.

“Nothing’s happening.” Sam said, concerned. “Do you think we did it right?”

“I don’t know. How far down do you think the magma is?” Jim asked.

Behind them, the nazgul began to recover, though still weakened. They turned to see the two Englishmen at the mouth of the volcano and let out a terrifying cry of anger and dismay even as the Elf warrior women began to lay into them.

“Why aren’t they dying?” Sam asked. “They were supposed to be destroyed once the ring was destroyed!”

“I don’t know!” Jim responded, frustrated and anxious.

Did he do it right? He wondered. It was true that he couldn’t _see_ any magma. Maybe there wasn’t any at the bottom? Maybe the ring just hit stone and was sitting somewhere down there? Still, better down there than up here, but that didn’t fix anything and the deathless wraiths would have no qualms about going down there to fetch it themselves once they had dispatched the rest of them.

_Damn!_ He swore internally. There was only one way to find out what had happened.

“I’ve got to go down there.” Jim told Sam as he took off his climbing gear and began to fix it for a descent into the volcano.

“What?!! Are you mad?! That’s suicide, Jim!” Sam told him.

“There’s no other choice. We’ve got to be sure the thing is done or else they’ll just go down and retrieve it.” He gestured to the black robed wraiths who were now fully engaged with Arwen and Eltariel and were trying desperately to get past the two Elf women to reach the mouth and pursue the ring.

“You’ll die!! Just from the volcanic gasses alone!! You’ll never reach the bottom before you pass out!!!” Sam pointed out, panicked for his friend.

The thought had of course occurred to Jim, but he knew it needed to be done. He needed to be sure. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take then. If Frodo and Sam could cross Mordor and nearly kill themselves to see one ring destroyed, the least I can do is to risk my life to make sure this one is.”

Sam then began unpacking his own climbing kit and fixing it for a descent. “Then I’m coming with you, Jim. Like you said, Frodo _and_ _Sam_. We started this together, and we’re going to end it together.”

Jim never truly appreciated the depth of the friendship he held with Samuel Ogden before that moment in time. A lump formed in his throat, and tears nearly came to his eyes. He didn’t want Sam to die any more than Sam he, but if they were going to risk their lives and probably kill themselves, he couldn’t think of any other person he’d rather have at his side.

“Together then.” Jim acknowledged.

They wrapped the ropes around themselves for rappelling just like Estel had shown them back at the church before nightfall. Both were certain they weren’t doing it right, and hesitated just a bit before climbing over the edge, but climb over they did and miraculously, the ropes held and they hadn’t splinched themselves in the process. Both took a measured breath and then began their descent into the abyss, their torches fixed to their belts providing the only light they had.

* * *

At the encampment…

The fighting lasted longer than Estel had hoped when the nazgul arrived. The remaining mercenaries weren’t going down easily. The creature had ridden up the mountain road on the back of a motorcycle no doubt acquired in the town like some modern version of Death riding on a pale horse. It ignored the rest of the combatants and somehow found him specifically in all of the chaos. The wraith’s face was indistinct, mere outlines in the darkness as though it had nearly faded from the mortal world entirely. The black robes of the wraith were tattered and burned in places as though someone had dumped a vessel of acid on it as it came to stand before the Numenorean and his kinswoman, Sofie.

Or a font of baptismal water.

“ _This is between you and me, Dunadan._ ” the wraith told him, a Russian accent heavy in its speech. “ _Don’t look surprised. I know what you are now. I know what all of you are._ ” The wraith drew two long, serrated, wicked looking blades from within its damaged robes and adopted a fighting stance

“And I know what you are, ringwraith.” Estel responded, drawing Anduril from his back.

Sofie drew the short sword she carried like everyone else, but she felt much less confident with it than she did with her rifle. The fear the creature was emanating was not lost on her either. She’d run through this lot of paid thugs without blinking. She’d spent several years in Middle Eastern hell holes. She’d watched friends die right in front of her. None of that elicited the feeling of dread which the presence of this nightmarish creature of darkness did.

“ _The ring? Yes, it calls to me. Oh, you’ve no idea how it calls to me. But the ring can wait._ ” The wraith’s voice answered. It was higher pitched, wheezy, and otherworldly. “ _I have already taken justice for my brother’s death from among your relatives down in the town. Especially that one who ambushed us in Brussels. You’ve no idea how I enjoyed cutting him open like a pig. Now, I will do the same to her, before I end your life as well._ ”

The wraith pointed at Sofie threateningly with his left sword tip.

“You will have to go through me first, demon.” Estel answered, stepping in front of her and assuming his own fighting stance appropriate for the ancient weapon he wielded. He would be damned before he let this thing kill another of his people. He would die before that happened.

The nazgul shrugged as it responded, “ _If you insist._ ”

The wraith rushed at him and the sound of swords clashing rang out across the burning encampment, joining the sporadic gunfire. They both hit hard and fast, blocking, striking, parrying, and thrusting. Estel fought without thought, without fear for himself or his own life, his actions and reactions faster than any pure blooded human could move, and faster than most eyes could see as the Elven heritage he bore as one of Arwen’s descendants began to make itself known. The one thought in his mind was, _no more of my kin will you take from me today._

The wraith’s own strikes were equally fast, unnaturally so as he met strike for strike. It was not the wraith’s first fight with the Numenorean, but it was determined that it would be its last.

Sofie wanted to help her king, but they were moving so quickly and ferociously she saw no opening to exploit. She knew that bullets would have no effect on the creature that was deathless. She too was of the blood of Numenor and a descendant, she knew, of the Lady Arwen, but she had not the same skill or training with this kind of blade. If she was off by even a little when she struck, she could end up hurting Estel instead or creating an opening for the wraith to kill either of them. She wasn’t foolish enough to do that just yet. She watched intently and waited for that moment when she could strike.

* * *

Within the Turrialba Volcano…

Jim and Sam continued to descend into the depths meter after meter. Both began to feel lightheaded, but whether it was from the fear of what they were doing, volcanic gasses, or just the physical exertion they didn’t know. Nevertheless, they stuck to it and continued downwards until the barely visible opening to the outside world was no longer visible at all.

Neither spoke as they rappelled downwards. It took all their concentration to attend to it and not drop too fast or too suddenly. The ropes hurt both their legs and their hands as they continued into the heart of the mountain, but they wouldn’t give up.

After they lost sight of the opening completely, Sam looked down expecting to see nothing but more darkness. Instead, he saw the glow of a bluish white light like a lantern perhaps coming from the bottom, which didn’t appear as far away as he had thought it would. Then he thought it might have been the ring, resting on a stone floor.

“I think I see it, Jim. There, not far below us. Maybe about nine or ten more meters.” Sam told him. “It’s glowing in the dark down there.”

“Are you sure?” Jim asked, looking downwards. He too saw the light, but couldn’t be certain it was coming from the ring. Of course, if it wasn’t the ring, then what was it?

“Not until we get down there, of course. But what else could it be?” Sam responded.

“I don’t know.” The book shop owner replied.

They continued downwards until the booted soles of both men’s feet hit a hard, smooth stone surface. The light they had seen was coming from a side chamber. How there could be a side chamber and not a raging pool of magma was anyone’s guess, but there it was. The side chamber was marked by an archway that Jim would have bet anything was carved with depictions of dwarves and inscribed with the Angarthas runes of Tolkien’s world. The archway wasn’t small either. It was made for the passage of someone at least ten times their height.

“What is this? How did this get here of all places?” Jim asked.

“I’ve no idea, mate, but the light’s coming from in there.” Sam replied pointing into the chamber where the archway led.

The two Englishmen passed through the entry into what appeared to be a vaulted chamber the size of Victoria Station in London, or the images of Grand Central Station in New York that Jim had once seen on the tele. The chamber was lit by meticulously cut crystals which glowed with a bluish white light that were set into the intricately carved stone walls. Around the chamber were what could only be described as rivers of molten rock and metal crossed by sturdy stone bridges and platforms upon which were giant anvils, tables with hammers, tongs, molds, and grinding stones, and furnaces that appeared to blaze so hot they might have been mistaken for small suns.

And in the middle of the chamber stood a muscular bearded man not too dissimilar from the dwarven captain they had come to know. This was true except this particular man glowed with a pure light all of his own, and he stood easily five meters tall. He wore a heavy leather apron of the kind blacksmiths wear, and heavy gloves resistant to heat. In the fingers of his right hand he appeared to be holding something very small, looking it over with an appraising eye appreciatively.

Jim’s heart nearly stopped when he realized what the giant was holding. It was Celebrimbor’s ring.

Without turning, without physically acknowledging their presence at all, the giant’s voice boomed across his workshop, “Please, come in. I’ve been expecting you two for some time.”

It was Sam who took a tentative step towards the platform where the massive blacksmith stood still eyeing the ring they had tried to dispose of. “You’ve been expecting us, sir?” He asked more politely than he realized. “Who- who are you?”

“You seek out my forge, and then don’t know who I am, Samuel Ogden? I thought you brighter than that, lad.” the smith replied, turning his attention to the two Englishmen for just a moment.

“Aule?” Jim asked, his voice full of disbelief and wonder. Here was standing before him a living vala, one of the great immortals tasked by Eru Iluvatar to govern the aspects of the world’s creation.

“Ah, the smart one.” Aule replied before returning his attention to the piece of jewelry between his thumb and index finger.

“We- we meant to destroy that, sir.” Sam then said. “You see-”

But the vala cut him off. “Aye, lad. I know why you’ve come. It really is a shame, you know. Celebrimbor was such a gifted craftsman, even in death. That he should create such a magnificent piece out of his mistaken pride… Och, what a waste. But needs must I suppose.”

Aule then casually tossed the ring into one of the flowing rivers of magma where it sat for just a few seconds, resisting the heat and the pressure until finally the metal could handle it no longer and it dissolved. Around the massive chamber, the forges appeared to glow brighter and hotter than they had been as the power of the ring released into them. And then they died back down, the energy expended harmlessly in the forges of the valar.

“It took real courage to seek me down here knowing what it might cost you, lads.” Aule told them. “I held off on tossing the ring to the fires just to see if you’d do it. I just wanted to see if you had it in you. I’m glad to know you didn’t disappoint those counting on you. Neither of you. You did well, lads. The both of you.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Aule, sir.” Sam then asked, more in awe than ever. “Are we… Are we in Valinor now? The True West?”

“Aye, in my forges for a brief moment of time. It won’t hurt anyone, and it keeps those people in that town from getting run over by the lava flows that ring would’ve caused otherwise.” Aule replied. A mischievous expression came over his face and he said with a grin, “I won’t tell Manwe if you won’t, eh?”

“So that’s it then?” Jim asked, the realization coming over him that it was done and over with. “It’s over?”

“It’s over.” Aule confirmed. “And I’ve got one other request of you, if you don’t mind that is.”

Jim blinked several times. It wasn’t every day a powerful immortal being asked a favor of you. “Of course. What is it?”

“When you get back to the surface, tell those elves and Aiwendil that I’ll be keeping this portal open for them for another few hours. That should give them enough time to say their farewells. Be sure to send them down here when everything’s been wrapped up. I’ll see they get to their proper places after that. Actually, Yavanna’s been looking forward to having Aiwendil back to look after her gardens.” the blacksmith of the Valar told them both. “I guess he’s pretty good with them.”

“Send them down… down here. Right then.” Jim replied. “And how are we to get back up?” He asked, not looking forward to a climb he wasn’t sure he could make.

“Oh. That’s the easy part.” Aule told him.

The next thing Jim and Sam knew a great gust of wind surrounded them and blew them back up the shaft they had just descended.

* * *

In the encampment…

The battle around them had begun to die down, but the fight between the nazgul and the king of Gondor-in-Exile didn’t let up for a heartbeat. Neither combatant yielded any ground as their blades clashed again and again. The ring wraith’s ring of power and unholy energy fueled his limbs, while the thought of how many of his people had died at this creature’s hands kept Estel’s arms from weakening and kept his strength steady.

Sofie continued to watch the dance between the two. She knew no human being could keep it up for much longer. She’d heard of such fights as might last for hours, but those were largely legendary and heroic fantasy. This duel had gone on for nearly thirty minutes, and neither party had relented or appeared to grow weary. She worried for her king and kinsman. She knew the threat which the nazgul had made against her, and knew he was fighting in this moment to protect her life like he hadn’t been able to protect the others.

She shifted her short sword to her left hand and drew a six inch knife from a leg sheath to hold blade down in her right. She wasn’t experienced in sword play, but she had been well trained for a knife fight and knew how to handle herself when she had run out of ammunition. She’d had to do it once near Kabul. The Taliban man didn’t walk away.

Estel kept fighting, kept swinging and blocking, but he felt his arms getting stiff and sore. He didn’t know if the nazgul even could experience the same, but in spite of his distant Elven heritage, he was still mostly human. He swung again, but his strike was too slow and the creature deftly parried it with one blade while going for the kill with the other. He commanded his body to respond to block the strike as he had an innumerable amount of times before in what seemed to be a never ending clash.

But his body refused to respond. His arms locked up and the sword suddenly felt as if it were a hundred pounds heavier. He saw the nazgul’s blade thrust for the kill and could do nothing about it. The wraith was just too fast and didn’t seem to tire one whit. Estel’s legs buckled and he went down, waiting for the blow he couldn’t keep from landing.

The next thing he saw was a short sword deflect the blade downwards and the nazgul stand up ramrod straight as though stunned from the back. Then the female hand holding the shortsword spun, taking advantage of the situation to deliver a slice to the back of the wraith’s neck intending to decapitate. Even as he saw Sofie perform the maneuver, he could see her holding her right hand as though it had been burned and he knew what had caused her to do so.

But before the sword blade could finish what she had started, the nazgul recovered itself enough to deflect her killing stroke and turn its sights on her. As it turned to face her, Estel could still see Sofie’s knife buried up to the hilt in its back. Her face was a cold mask of focus and concentration, knowing that she had nowhere the skill that the man she now fought to protect did with a sword. Still, she would not show her fear to the monster. If it killed her, it would have to work for it.

The creature raised its jagged blades and prepared to begin its lightning fast volley of strikes which she knew she had no hope of defending against.

And then it stopped as though stunned once more. The death dealing blades it had been wielding dropped to the ground as its black gloved hands reached for its own throat. A gurgling sound could be heard escaping as dark black blood began to seep down from where its neck should be and across its chest. The nazgul fell to its knees holding its own throat, and then its torso collapsed to the ground motionless.

She waited for just a few more seconds to ensure the creature had stopped moving and then, holding her right hand under her arm, she ran to Estel’s side to tend to her king and the man who spent every last ounce of strength he had to keep her from dying at the end of a nazgul’s blade.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

In the Halls of Mandos…

Celebrimbor found himself standing in a deep cavern with no memory of how he arrived. Much more than this, his memories prior to being in that cavern were jumbled and confused. There was a man, a Gondorian ranger, a silver ring, and a burning eye with which he had struggled for centuries… or did he? His only solid memories, the last moments which were clear to him were of the maia Sauron, whom he had known as Annatar, torturing him to death for the creation of the elven rings under his nose and without his influence.

_Annatar… Oh what a fool I was!_ The elven smith thought to himself. _I should have known better!_

And then he realized the full import of his last clear memory.

“I died? The traitor murdered me?” He asked aloud, trying to make sense of it. “But if that’s true, then where am I?”

The Elven smith turned around to get a better look at his surroundings. The cavern was huge, and there were structures, and columns all around him of clearly Elven or Valar design. It was dark, but not necessarily gloomy. The best word he could find to describe it was “restful” or “calming.”

“You stand in the halls of waiting, friend.” Came a deep, resonant voice from nearby.

The Elf turned in the direction of the voice to see a towering figure wearing midnight blue and black robes. He was pale of skin with a snow white beard. Both wisdom and justice shone in his eyes. The figure was easily five times the Elf’s own height. A dark gray hound heeled next to him, eyeing the Elf curiously, but no more.

“You stand in my halls.” The figure added.

“Mandos…” Celebrimbor spoke the figure’s name, knowing now in whose presence he stood, the vala judge of the dead.

“Usually, they are called the halls of waiting for the souls who come here waiting for either their afterlife or their re-embodiment among the Elves in the case of your people. But in your case, it is I who have been made to wait. I have been waiting for a very long time for you to arrive, Celebrimbor.”

“My lord…” The Elf replied, bending the knee to the vala and not knowing what else to say. “I… I don’t remember much of anything except fragments.”

“But you remember assisting Sauron to forge the rings?” Mandos asked pointedly.

“Yes.” Celebrimbor’s face fell. It was not a light crime he had committed. “But I didn’t know it was even him at the time. I didn’t know until he revealed himself. I… I tried to fix it. I forged new rings. I tried to stop him…”

The Elf paused for a minute as his memories began to coalesce. Memories from _after_ he died. “I _did_ try to stop him, but in so doing I… I made things so much worse, didn’t I? I became obsessed with it and nearly destroyed anyone who got in my way.”

“You did.” Mandos agreed, his voice grave and ominous.

“I became a _bright_ lord to counter his darkness, but only ended up imprisoned by him. And then… and then… It’s all a jumble. I remember wandering, and voices, and faces of people I think I know but I’m not sure. I wandered for… I don’t even know how long.” Celebrimbor said. “My soul was unable to leave the world. I was trapped there. I was tormented there…”

The Elf trailed off as it all came back to him. Had he been living, he would have wept for all that had happened to him, and all that he had done.

“What is to become of me?” The Elf asked the lord of the dead, realizing that his punishment would have to fit his crimes.

Mandos took a breath and sighed before responding. “I have spoken at length with Manwe about your particular case, especially in light of recent events. Your pride has caused a great deal of harm, not just to you, but to the entire world. We have both given your punishment a great deal of thought.”

“I see.” The Elven smith acknowledged, reconciling himself to the justice of the Valar.

“Our judgment is this,” Mandos told him, “that nothing we can do can equal the suffering you have already incurred over these last eleven thousand years. Our judgment is that you have suffered more than was necessary. I invite you to rest here for a while, and give thanks to Iluvatar for his mercy. When all is ready, you will be re-embodied and rejoin your people in Eldamar.”

“I’m free?” Celebrimbor asked in disbelief. “I’m truly free?”

“You are free.” Namo replied. “Welcome home, Celebrimbor.”

* * *

At the crest of the Turrialba Volcano…

In truth, those partings in the wee hours of the morning had been some of the hardest of Jim’s life. Not just the parting with the Lady Arwen, but also with Eltariel, his constant bodyguard whom he had grown quite fond of as though she were a much, much older sister perhaps. They had both been waiting for Jim and Sam in the crater when the rush of wind brought the two Englishmen back to the surface.

Three ragged and empty sets of black robes lay motionless on the ground before them. The expressions on the faces of both women said everything: relief, pride, triumph, absolute joy, and also the pain of knowing they would now have to say good-bye to those they loved.

“You did it!” Eltariel had exclaimed as the two men landed on their feet. “How…?”

Arwen’s own expression beamed with pride at the two men, but also understanding seeing how they had returned to the surface without their climbing gear. Jim and Sam both related everything they had experienced in Aule’s Forge, and the Elven women listened with rapt attention. Both women understood Aule’s message clearly. They then went quickly to gather their fellow Elves and return to the mouth of Turrialba, Jim and Sam remained there waiting and watching the skies clear above them to reveal the stars like they had rarely ever seen before.

Arwen had kissed both Jim and Sam on the cheek, and had handed Jim an envelope which she had carried with her since leaving Germany. She told him, “Give this to Aragorn when he awakens. Everything is in his name now, Cerin Amroth, the bank accounts, the investments, everything. Tell him to rule our people wisely as my husband did, and tell him he cannot do it alone.”

Likewise, Eltariel gave both men a kiss on the cheek as well. To them she said, “It has been my honor. Tell my _edhellen_ life is shorter than he thinks. Tell him to find someone who can walk his road with him.”

“Shouldn’t you be the one to tell him these things?” Jim asked.

“I can’t. If I go to him, I may not leave. This is the best for both us.” The Elf woman replied.

“We’ll tell him.” Sam replied for them both, his eyes beginning to well up for the finality of it all.

“I wish this didn’t have to be farewell.” Jim told her, his own eyes tearing up. “I wish…”

“Our task is done here.” Eltariel responded. “All things must come to an end. That is the way of a mortal life. You have such fleeting time, James Frudd. Don’t spend it in mourning for what you have lost. Spend it in celebration for what you have been given.”

And then the whole company of Elves were surrounded by Aule’s rushing wind, and then they were gone. It was only then that both Jim and Sam allowed their tears to flow freely as they watched the mouth of the volcano together.

Fifteen minutes later, as both men were still standing there they heard another familiar voice behind them, “What, they didn’t wait for me? I’m not a cub anymore. It takes me a while to get anywhere you know. I won’t hear the end of it from Yavanna.”

Both Jim and Sam turned to see the brown wizard, Radagast coming across the crater with his staff. They had not seen him since the Mass in the church earlier that afternoon, and only knew that he was contributing to the battle in his own way as per Estel’s plans.

“Oh, what’s this?” Radagast asked as he saw the rivulets of salt water staining their cheeks. “Well, I suppose it is appropriate for farewells, now isn’t it?”

“Aule mentioned the name Aiwendil. That’s you, isn’t it?” Jim asked. “He said Yavanna would be glad to have you tending her gardens again.”

“Ah, well that’s lovely, I…” Radagast began to respond then paused and asked, “Wait a minute. What does she think I’ve been doing this entire time?”

Then both Jim and Sam laughed in spite of themselves. “I really don’t know.” Jim responded in the midst of the mirth the wizard’s question caused. “I can’t imagine anyone looking after her gardens on this side of things better than you.”

“Well, that’s what I was saying! I…” Radagast began to speak more, but then went silent before he said. “Hmm. I will have to speak with her about it.” He then added, “It will be lovely to see Gandalf again. We haven’t sat down and had a smoke in ages. Quite literally.”

“It’s been a true honor, sir.” Sam told the brown wizard, extending his hand. “The best of my life.”

Radagast looked at his hand and then took it. “Oh no, dear boy. The honor has been all mine to know you both. I shall look forward to seeing you both again.”

“Seeing us again?” Jim asked, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? These farewells are only temporary, or did you forget the plan Eru pulled off under all of our noses? You remembered it earlier today in the church, at the Mass.” The wizard told them, reminding them of the church service earlier.

“So we did.” Sam then said, a look of understanding in his eyes.

“Yes. So we did.” Jim agreed.

Satisfied, Radagast said, “Well, looks like I missed the ride. Looks like I’ll have to find my own way down.” He then looked at them both with a gleam in his eye and a smile on his lips as he asked them, “Can you boys keep a secret?”

They both returned puzzled expressions to him waiting for further explanation.

“I only look like an old man. I’m not one of your race after all.” Radagast then told them with a mischievous smile, though to be fair it was a piece of information that did not surprise them in the slightest and they were already well aware of.

“Well, yes, of course.” Jim responded, not knowing how to respond.

And then Radagast’s form began to change and glow with a brilliant light as his features became younger and more handsome. His frail human frame gave way to one of a being of pure holy power as he lifted off the ground and assumed for the moment his primeval form as one of the Ainur created before the world began. The radiant being then floated above the ground and moved to hover over the mouth of the volcano for a few brief moments where he waved one last farewell to the two Englishmen. And then he descended into the depths of the mountain, and was gone.

* * *

In the encampment…

Dawn broke with golden rays of light in a clear sky over the landscape. It revealed the charred and burning remains of the camp as the army of Gondor-in-Exile tended to their wounded, burned the remaining corpses on the ground, and decided what to do with those who surrendered. The dark, thick clouds which had covered the region for weeks had mysteriously and quickly fled around two o’clock in the morning revealing the stars of the heavens in all their unfettered glory brightly shining and looking down upon those who still remained after the battle prompting some of those Elves who were among the attacking force to cry out for the sight as their primeval ancestors did, “Ea!!”

Several mercenaries wondered in from the west road on foot, dazed and injured as though they had been in some pretty serious vehicle accidents. Some looked as though they had been attacked by wild animals. All of them had fantastic stories to tell of how they obtained their injuries. They went on about a forest of trees suddenly appearing on the road where there had never been any trees before, and some unseen force stopping and flipping their trucks full of men. One swore the black robed boss he had been traveling with suddenly just imploded in on himself as he watched, and his eyes told a story of terror bordering on insanity. None of them offered any resistance to the Dunedain as they were placed under guard and their wounds treated.

Jim and Sam helped out where they could, but their knowledge of first aid and tending battlefield wounds was extremely limited. When they had done all they could, they sought out Estel who was resting as comfortably as possible on the ground, his eyes closed, with a blond Numenorean woman at his side tending to him. Her right hand had been bandaged, and the pungeant sweet, basil and mint smell of the Kingsfoil essence which had been distributed to them all hung heavy in the air around both of them.

“Is he…?” Jim asked the woman, concerned for the condition in which they found their friend.

“He’s only resting.” She answered with a distinct German accent, clearly unwilling to leave his side. “He suffered no injury except exhaustion. He will recover.”

“Exhaustion?” Sam asked in surprise.

“He fought to protect me from the wraith.” The woman explained, both awe and gratitude in her voice. “I have never in my life seen anyone move as fast as he did with his sword or for as long. He fought until he couldn’t move at all, and still he would not yield.”

Jim smiled a little, having spent so much time with Estel he responded, “That doesn’t surprise me. He’s probably the finest man, the finest _king_ I have ever met. England should be so lucky if its kings and queens were of such quality.”

The woman nodded.

“Is your hand alright?” Jim then asked, gesturing to her bandaged appendage.

“It will be fine in time.” She replied. “I stabbed the wraith in the back and somehow it was either burned or poisoned or both. I’ve treated it with the medicine Grandmother brought, and have been sipping from it as well to be sure as we were instructed. Speaking of which, where is the Lady Arwen? She will want to know about his majesty.”

“She…” Jim paused for a moment, remembering his farewells. “She has gone home to be with her family.” He wasn’t certain how that had come across, but it was the truth nonetheless. “She asked me to deliver this envelope to Estel. Would you give it to him when he wakes up?”

“Gone home? I don’t understand. All of her family is here.” The woman asked even as she took the envelope for safekeeping.

“Not all of them, and they’ve been waiting for a very long time as I understand it.” Jim answered. “She left with the other Elves for their true home just a little while ago.”

The woman’s face then looked grieved and saddened as the meaning of his words became real to her. She answered him, “I… I wish she would have stayed a little longer. I would like to have gotten to know her. I’ve never been to our family’s estate. All I know of our people’s history is those silly films and what my father…”

At the mention of her father, she then began to break down and tears began to flow. “My father…” She repeated. “He didn’t make it out of the town last night.”

“I know something of how it feels.” Feeling deeply for her loss, Jim’s own eyes began to well again and, looking at Sam who nodded, “It’s been a difficult night for all of us. May we sit with you, at least until he wakes up?”

“ _Bitte_.” She responded in her native tongue, her voice cracking.

“My name’s Jim. This is Sam.” Jim told her as the two men sat down next to her and the sleeping Estel.

“ _Sofie. Danke_.” She replied.

“Tell us about your father.” Sam then told her. “To pass the time.”

And she began talking while they listened.

* * *

In Tirion upon Tuna in Eldamar…

Arwen and her company of recently arrived Elves had journeyed for several days upon leaving the vast, dwarf like halls of Aule’s domain. He was a hospitable and gracious host, if somewhat blunt and gruff, much like the dwarves whom he had created. His consort, Yavanna, was somewhat more gentle and fair, and the Elves had felt far more at home among her gardens where they said their farewells to Aiwendil whom they had known in Middle Earth as Radagast the Brown. In truth, he seemed quite happy to be back among Yavanna’s bright and growing forests. Arwen had never seen the wizard—no, she remembered, the _maia—_ so full of joy.

They traveled east until, on the fourth day of their journey, they saw the walls of the white city of Tirion upon Tuna. The city glowed like a single pearl in moonlight as they approached, and many wept for the sight of its beauty. Its spires and towers were crowned with gold, and the sand of its pathways was made from crushed diamond so that the city was constantly glittering.

And every one of those traveling with the Elven Lady knew in their hearts that they had finally come home. But for Arwen herself, as much as she felt the city to be where she belonged as she passed through its gate alongside her companions, there was a particular homecoming she was anticipating, but did not know what to expect.

After those others who traveled with her had gone their separate ways, and only Eltariel remained by her side, after making some inquiries, they found themselves standing outside the gated entry of a large estate within the sprawling city. This was when she hesitated.

Sensing something was amiss, Eltariel asked, “My Lady, is something wrong?”

Arwen herself couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was uncharacteristically uncertain. “I… I don’t know. It’s been so long, and they weren’t expecting me to join them. We all expected our farewells at my wedding to be our last. What if…?”

Her friend and faithful servant touched her hand to Arwen’s shoulder reassuringly and told her, “My Lady, they’re your family. They will want to see you.”

Arwen took Eltariel’s hand and patted it, thankful for her words. “Yes, of course you’re right. I’m just being silly.” She exclaimed even as tears formed in her eyes.

She opened the wrought mithril gate, and they both passed through into a series of well kept, manicured gardens which surrounded a tall, pearlescent white manor house of elvish architecture reminiscent of the ancient cities and structures of the Noldor, but with a few touches here and there which reminded her of her childhood home at Rivendell.

As they made their way through the gardens they came upon an Elf woman with long, lustrous, platinum blond hair dressed in a white day gown. She was sitting upon a bench next to a pond with a fountain of bubbling water. Next to her was seated an Elven man with dark hair reading Sindarin poetry to the beautiful woman from a small book he held in his hands.

And Arwen’s knees nearly buckled at the sight as the tears began to flow freely.

“Father? Mother?” She asked, barely able to get the words out. She had last seen her father, Lord Elrond as he took his leave at her wedding. She had last seen her mother five hundred years before that as she embarked for the West to heal her mind and heart after her imprisonment and torture by the orcs. She had not thought to ever see either of them again, and neither they her.

The man’s eyes looked up from the book at the sound, as well as the woman’s, to see the much younger Elf woman with dark hair like her father’s. Their eyes both went wide as Elrond asked in disbelief, “Arwen? It cannot be, can it?”

“My daughter? Arwen, is it really you?” The Lady Celebrian asked, tears forming in her own eyes. “It’s been so long. We thought…”

“It’s me, mother. It’s really me.” Arwen replied, rivulets of salt water streaming down her face.

Then both Elrond and Celebrian nearly jumped up from where they had been sitting and almost ran for their daughter to embrace her. “You’re here.” Elrond cried, kissing her head. “I cannot believe it! You’re here, and you live! We thought… We thought you had died. But how is this possible? You chose a mortal life!”

“My son, Eldarion, Atta,” Arwen cried as she embraced her parents fiercely, “he brought me out of my despair. He gave me a reason to live, as did all of my descendants.”

“Bless him!” Elrond exclaimed. “Bless my grandson for that, and bless all of our grandchildren for bringing you back to us.”

Eltariel watched the reunion with joy, tears running down her own cheeks. Soon, she decided, it would be time to find her own family, but she had wanted to see this one last duty to the house of Celeborn and Galadriel fulfilled by restoring Arwen to hers.

* * *

In Goole, England, two weeks later…

Jim Frudd unlocked the storefront door to _Cul-de-sac_ books at nine o’clock in the morning for the first time in months. It felt strange to him, doing something so ordinary as opening up the shop after the events of those months. It was familiar, but no longer as comforting as it once had been. If one could have compared it to a pair of well worn shoes, suddenly, the shoes had holes in them and were no longer so comfortable. Nevertheless, he opened the door and entered the shop to take stock of it. Except for a little more dust, it looked exactly the same as he had left it. Everything was exactly the same. The shop, his house, his town. Everything.

Everything except him.

Not far from where he stood inside the aged, weather beaten door, he knew Sam was starting his first shift back working for the grocery store once more. That took some explaining to get him his job back, but he hadn’t been alone. Jim had been there with him, as had a sharply dressed Estel in a tailored suit more appropriate to a businessman or a politician. The Numenorean had made a point of returning to England with his two friends to ensure they could resume their lives, and spared no expense in doing so.

“You must live as you see fit, but you are both kin to me. You will both always have a house and family waiting for you at Cerin Amroth, my friends. That will never change. Not as long as I rule it.” Estel had told them both on their return, and before departing.

The envelope which their tall friend had received from his Grandmother before she departed had contained a German birth certificate with his true name on it, as well as all corresponding identity documents and a German passport. There were also a number of documents related to their family’s finances, Swiss bank account numbers, and lists of properties and assets which until that point, only she had truly known. Estel had informed Jim later that the true extant of his Grandmother’s assets, which had all been placed in the name of “Aragorn Elessar” made the hundreds of thousands if not millions of euros she had expended in their expedition to see the ring’s final destruction appear as mere pennies. Some modern nations did not have the resources that the Elven queen had compiled over the eons.

Attached to all of this was a short hand written note from her which read in Sindarin, in flowing Tengwar characters as he translated it for Jim and Sam, “No more hiding. Take these and use them wisely. Be who you were born to be, my hope. Rule our people well, and be the king Middle-Earth still needs.”

It was, in fact, because of these documents that Estel had been more than influential in Sam’s being able to return to his job. One of the investments Arwen had made had put Estel as the primary shareholder in the supermarket chain. Jim smiled briefly at the memory. The store manager was a decent and understanding man to begin with, but he was positively acquiescent to Estel’s request and talked about promoting Sam upon learning who his friends were.

Sam was not the same man Jim knew months ago either. Just the night before, he and Rose McAllister went out on their first evening together. It was something Sam wouldn’t have had the nerve to do prior to their meeting their extraordinary new friends. Two days after their return, he didn’t want to let another day pass without asking her.

Jim moved deeper into his shop and then stopped once more, turning around to see everything. Everywhere he looked, he realized, he saw his aunt and uncle. It had always been their shop. Their dream. Their life. That was why he had held onto it so tightly. It then occurred to him once more, what would his uncle have said about it? It was almost funny that he had never asked himself that question before running off to the continent with Sam and Estel. Was he truly honoring their memories, or was he just clinging? And then he made the realization he hadn’t before.

This shop wasn’t _his_ life. It was theirs. His uncle wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it had he seen what Jim had done with what they left for him. Suddenly, the book shop was no longer comforting at all. It was cold, dark, and felt much like a tomb, a place to come and die.

Jim had been given his fill of death for a lifetime. He had literally stared it in the face.

He said one last farewell. This one to his aunt and uncle whom he imagined would finally be smiling on his newfound understanding. A mortal life was too short to not be lived.

He turned around and walked out of the book shop, locked the door, and didn’t look back.

* * *

At the Jailhouse two nights later…

Jim had already been sitting at the bar for some time when Sam arrived. He had been doing a lot of thinking for the past two days, but hadn’t spoken much with his best mate who had been incredibly busy since returning to work.

Sam sat down on the stool next to Jim and ordered a pint from the barkeep.

“So. How’re things at the Asda?” Jim asked.

“It’s insane.” Sam replied, taking a sip from the frothy glass which had been placed in front of him. “Mr. Casey is training me to be an assistant manager, he’s got me running all over the place and studying like mad. I honestly don’t know if I’m going to survive it.”

Jim smiled at that, knowing what they had both survived. “And how are things with Rose?”

Sam blushed at it as a smile crept over his face, “We’re going out again tomorrow night. Turns out she had her eye on me too this whole time we’d known each other. Just that neither of us could work up the courage before now.”

“You’ve no idea how happy that makes me for you, Sam. Really.” Jim told him, taking a sip from his own ale that sat in front of him.

“What about you? How’s your shop?” Sam asked.

Jim paused for just a moment before saying the words, “I’m selling the shop, Sam. And my house.”

“What?” Sam nearly spurted the beer he had just sipped. “When did you decide that?” He asked as he wiped his mouth, shock and surprise in his eyes.

“About five minutes after unlocking the door and attempting to walk into the shop again.” Jim answered. “I realized they’ve never truly been mine, and neither has that life. My aunt and uncle wanted more for me, and up until these past few months, I let them down by holding on to them so tightly.”

A look of grief but also understanding passed over Sam’s face as he realized what his friend was saying. “Where are you going to go? Back to Cambridge?”

“Maybe. Eventually. I don’t know. I called Estel, er… Aragorn last night. He and I spoke for some time. I think, at least at first, I will take him up on his offer and go back to Cerin Amroth. He’s been making plans for his people to become more openly involved in European affairs and politics as Arwen wished. He is also moving to take in the family members of those killed at Turrialba, as many as want to live there. He suggested that I could help with both in some way. He asked that I be there, and I accepted.” Jim explained. “I’ve got to live my own life, Sam. But first I have to find out what that looks like.”

“So this is what? Good-bye?” Sam asked, his voice genuinely hurt though still filled with understanding.

“Not yet. I still have to find buyers for the house and shop. That might take no little amount of time. But then, yes, I suppose it is. For now at least, but probably not forever. We’ll still keep in contact over the internet, and I suppose we’ll still be able to quest together on the game.” Jim told him.

“The game.” Sam repeated thoughtfully. “You know, the truth is, I haven’t even been able to sit down and log in since we got back. It just feels weird, you know?”

“I know. I haven’t either.” Jim agreed.

They were both quiet for a moment before Sam said, “I’ll never be able to get used to calling him ‘Aragorn’. That just don’t feel right either.”

“I know. It will take some getting used to.” Jim agreed on that point too. “But I’m glad he’s settling into the name. It suits him well. As does Sofie. You know, he told me she hasn’t left his side much at all since that morning. Sounds like she packed up and moved to Cerin Amroth, bringing her horses with her and everything. He sounded glad of it. Said he couldn’t do any of this without her support. Honestly, I’m glad they met, even under the circumstances.”

“Wait, aren’t they cousins?” Sam asked, put off by the idea.

“I asked the same question. She’s pretty far removed from his line, far enough to where it doesn’t matter, apparently.” Jim replied.

“Well, in that case, I hope it works out for the two of them. She seemed a decent woman.” Sam replied. “He could do a lot worse, that’s for sure.”

They were quiet again as they nursed their drinks. Then Sam spoke again in a low, heartfelt voice, “I’m going to miss you, Jim. You’ve been the best mate I’ve ever had. We went to hell and back together it seemed. I’ll never forget that.”

“And you mine, Sam. And you mine.” Jim replied.

And they continued the rest of that night drinking and remembering. Eventually, Jim did sell his house. Sam and Rose bought it as their first home together upon their wedding two months later. His bookshop was sold, but all the books within it were shipped back to Cerin Amroth in Germany where they became a part of the estate’s private library collection upon Jim’s arrival as the personal advisor and researcher of Aragorn Elessar, a wealthy philanthropist and humanitarian who just suddenly appeared on the political scene in Europe with a vision for a just, fair, and strong European Union the likes of which hadn’t been seen before. Two years later, he would accept the seat of German Chancellor with an eye to a stronger, peaceful political and economic union throughout Europe dedicated to the welfare and benefit of all its citizens. Some hailed it as the second coming of Charlemagne, while others compared it to his fictional namesake of whom Tolkien wrote. Always he was accompanied by his wife, Sofie.

Sam eventually became the assistant manager at the Asda in Goole, and later the store manager after Mr. Casey retired. He and Rose lived in the house they bought from Jim for years, raising their three children: Eltariel, Arwen, and Gondeg whose unusual names were wondered at by all but their parents. Eventually, he ran for parliament representing Goole and won. He became a well respected, and well liked businessman and politician. And once a year, on the same night every year, he would meet up with an old friend for a pint at the jailhouse to talk not about where they had been as much as where they were and where they were going.

THE END


End file.
